


A Different Evil Altogether

by mitsukai613



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smaug didn't particularly want Erebor anymore, really; it had become very dull indeed by the end of the first few years. He'd have probably left decades ago, were it not for the insufferable, nameless wizard who spared his life only so he could bind him to the fortress and have him guard the evil within. Bilbo learns of this, or at least part of it, shortly after he sends the rest of the Company tumbling out of the elven fortress at Mirkwood in the barrels. Now the only matter is telling the dwarves that Smaug literally can't be killed, or so he believes. Smaug, however, knows the real trouble; the stirring of whatever evil he's meant to guard has awoken him, and powerful though he is, he's unsure if he can stand against it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostdreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostdreaming/gifts).



> This is another idea given to me by ghostdreaming; hopefully I've done it justice, although this part is mostly just set up. The next chapter will dig much more deeply into things, and probably be a tad longer, although I don't know for sure. Anyhow, please do enjoy!

                It actually shocked me a bit, when I at last awoke; I had thought that my sleep would be of a more eternal sort. That it was not… well, I suppose it was pleasant enough for me, but for Middle Earth in general? Perhaps not. I stretched, and the gold laying atop my back tumbled down with a pleasant clatter. I wondered when the dwarves who’d once owned this fortress would show up; soon, probably, although I feared I wouldn’t notice. After all, the stench of them was still so strong here that new ones likely wouldn’t make much difference. One would almost think the lot of them never bathed, though how they dealt with that in the stifling closeness of their halls I would never know; perhaps their eyes had grown so adept at seeing the sheen of gold and gems that their noses had gone blind. I snorted, and the very fine, unworn cloak that had somehow become draped over the tip of my nose flew across the room.

                I took a moment to wander about the fortress, stretching legs that hadn’t moved for, I assumed, over a hundred years. Always I felt a faint tug to return to the treasury, however; a rather bothersome byproduct of my redemption, but it was, I supposed superior to the fate I would have suffered had I not taken the offer. One simply cannot say one has lived, after all, unless one has been told that an eternity of being worn as a rather eccentric wizard’s belt awaits unless one agrees to serve as a guard against evil and whatnot. Another snort, and this time, a bit of fire came with it. That tapestry was quite hideous anyway, by the way.

                I flicked my tail and turned, the urge to return to the treasury growing too much for me to ignore. Such punishment really was excessive, I think, for the destruction of _one_ little village, and it wasn’t as though it hadn’t been rebuilt! Not well, from what I’d heard, but it _had_ been rebuilt, and surely there were plenty of mountains those dwarves could inhabit. In fact, why did they need a mountain at all, really? Surely they could make tunnels on flat ground as well, could they not? Or perhaps not live in tunnels at all! A little sky would’ve been good for them.

                Alas, not everyone is quite as sane as I. The wizard who’d showed up perhaps ten years after I conquered Erebor, a very funny little man whose name I never learned, was particularly not at all sane. He was at least creative, however; very few men would think to tell a dragon that they would be killed and then, as insult, be turned into accessories. Had the fool not had the power to back that particular idiotic threat up, I might have remembered him fondly. As it stood, I’d been relegated into being a guard dog, as that, obviously, is what sane men do when they have an almighty dragon such as myself in the palm of their hand.

                Would anyone have even told the damned dwarves who were, no doubt, on their way here? Probably not. No one ever bothers with such silly details as that, not even in a footnote, as though it is so difficult to add in such an addendum; ah, yes, and please do not try to kill the massive dragon in that particular mountain, as it has, somehow and through no desire of its own, managed to become the only living being in the way of thousands of years of darkness and torment for all the adorable little creatures of Middle Earth and so on and so forth. You see? That is all it would take, just a tiny little note in the history books. Not that I was under any illusion that a dwarf would ever read it, but still; at least it would give something else the means to let them know. 

                As it stood, I would surely have to deal with the screaming, and the threatening, and oh, the _sword throwing_ for at least a half hour or so before I finally managed to get it through their thick skulls that they were literally not allowed to kill me. I sighed; I would have returned the damned mountain gladly if I could avoid _that_. The place wasn’t even _interesting_ anymore; I’d looked at all the truly unique treasures by the end of the first week, and all the books had been read by the month’s end.

                Truly, looking back on it all, none of it had actually been worth it, but I had been quite young at the time, and young dragons are not exactly known for their skill at considering the future, most especially when “future” generally means a few centuries rather than a few days. And I’d had such a nice horde in the distant, frozen mountains of the far north! It had been in such a cozy mountain, too, nothing at all like this place. I’d heard tales of the treasures of Erebor, however, and I’d gotten _curious_. May it never be said that a dragon’s curiosity ends any better for the dragon than a cat’s does for it.

                 Would the dwarves have a wizard with them, I wondered? I hoped so; I wanted to eat one, just out of spite. Of course, as I’ve already said, it might not matter anyway, given that I’d awoken. That, you see, meant that there was a very real chance that the evil I blocked was stirring, and who was to say if I would be sufficient to keep it contained? I surely wouldn’t; I am strong, yes, and none would ever deny that, but I am certainly not impossible to kill, and I am under no illusions that I could stand for eternity against something of equal or greater might to myself. But, I had indeed made a promise, no matter the pressure I’d been under when I made it, and I will not have it be said that I am an oath breaker. I yawned, relaxing atop the gold as the ever present thrum of whatever spell the wizard had cast to make certain I was held here washed over me.

                 For some reason or another, however, I quite hoped it would all matter after all; perhaps I’d awoken only to make certain the dwarves didn’t kill me without realizing my place, or perhaps they would for once be of aid and vanquish whatever evil it was that I held back, and I could leave the damnable fortress and return to my old mountain. It would surely be overrun by now, of course, and perhaps ransacked, but surely I could fix that in a short enough time; no more than the time I’d been stuck here, to be sure

* * *

 

Bilbo’s POV

                Deep within the elven dungeons, hiding in the darkness with naught but my ring as protection, I could think only of the sight of Erebor on the Carrock. We had been so near; would it be this that stopped us? I couldn’t believe that, not while I was still free. There was yet a chance. After all, I’d found plenty of places through which someone of my size could escape, though none quite large enough for thirteen dwarves to pass unnoticed.

                That there were points for me to pass meant that there were weaknesses, though; all I had to do was find them, and then… then everything would be alright. I nodded to myself and began moving through the dungeons again, passing guards as easily as smoke, though a few followed me with their gaze, suspicious and surely thinking themselves mad for it.

                I knew I’d been around the dwarves for too long because that actually amused me, a little; I suppose at least I hadn’t taken up the quite vulgar term some of them seemed fond of using for the elves, but I think that might just be because I do actually like the majority of them. It’s only all this imprisoning and the inability for either of the sides to actually talk to one another and-. Well, it’s a very small amount of issues, really, and the majority are for both sides, and it certainly wouldn’t do to be distracted by it then.

                Despite my attempts to focus and get things done, it still really did shock me when I finally did happen upon a way to get the dwarves out, although I imagined they’d all find it very… unpleasant. But, really, what did that matter? They’d certainly done plenty to me that _I_ found unpleasant, like raiding my pantry and blunting my knives and head-butting me, and surely I could have a little payback for all that, especially since I was doing this to save them. I nodded once to myself, very proud; I was quite certain my dear friends would be proud of me as well. I was, after all, starting to think like them. The room I’d found, some sort of loading area, with barrels and a rather ingenious system to get things out, was empty but for a single sleeping guard, so I allowed myself a soft chuckle before I made my way back into the tunnels.

                Eventually, I managed to tell all the dwarves that I had a way to free them, and even got them to agree to coming with me once I got them out, shockingly enough in Thorin’s case. That he’d begun to legitimately trust me over the course of this quest was… strange, but certainly welcome. I wondered what the Shire would say, when I returned and told them of all of this.

                I paused a moment; had I really just thought, so surely, so easily, that I would return? I had. My, but I _had_ come a very long way, and not just in distance. I smiled to myself; now, I had to fetch a key, somehow, and then get them all down to the barrel room, and then hope that they didn’t kill me when they found out exactly what my plan was, as I hadn’t _quite_ told them the specifics of it, only that I knew how to get them out. I coughed, quietly, and then began seeking out a wandering guard, whom I caught surprisingly easily and, with equal ease, pickpocketed the key off of him.

                As I made my way back to the cells and found myself very, very grateful for the lessons Nori had insisted upon; that he’d been a cutpurse had once… bothered me, a little, but in a situation such as this, one gains a strange appreciation for such skills. I was so eager that I didn’t even wait until morning, instead running about like a madman and setting all of my friends free.

                I had memorized the guard pattern in my time there; as such, it was a simply matter, taking them through tunnels I knew would be empty to get them to the room. They all stared at me when we got there in varying degrees of nerves; Bofur in particular looked worried that I’d hit my head on something while down there. I sighed.

                “Please, just trust me; get in the barrels, all of you.”

                “Bilbo-,” someone, I think Kili, began, but I shook my head.

                “Please. You’ve followed me this far, haven’t you? I know what I’m doing, so get in the barrels.” Wonder of wonders, the stubborn dwarves actually obeyed and scrambled into the enormous barrels that had, I assumed, once contained alcohol of some sort. Before they could protest again, I told them all to hold their breath and pulled the lever. They only cursed me a little when they started rolling, at which point I realized the major flaw of my plan; I’d quite forgotten about a way to get myself out after this.

                I cleared my throat, quite embarrassed at myself, and finally decided that the best option would be to go find one of the hobbit-sized holes I’d seen earlier and get out that way. Perhaps this would’ve been fine, but just then, before I managed to get my ring back on, I, of course, got caught.

                The elf before me, one who was very tall and thin, with the palest blonde hair, raised an eyebrow. He looked rather a lot like Thranduil, I noticed, if not quite as severe, and I perhaps cowered a little.

                “What are you doing here?” he asked, legitimate surprise at my presence appearing for but a moment before it was replaced by faint displeasure.

                “Oh! Oh, I, er got lost. Yes, you see, I got lost in the dungeons, and found my way here. It was all very unfortunate. His eyebrow went up higher. I’m quite certain I flushed like a fool; Nori might have taught me to pick pockets like him, but he had never been able to impart his skill at lying. I squirmed under the elf’s scrutiny.

                “That I could believe, but I think the bigger issue is why, exactly, you were in the dungeons to begin with, hobbit?” Oh, dear. That he knew what I was would probably cause more issues. It had been quite well reported that the company was traveling with me, and I didn’t imagine that this elf was under the illusion that hobbits were a common sight in Mirkwood.

                “Erm.” He actually laughed, a little.

                “You were travelling with those dwarves, weren’t you? Come to free them?” I thought to try and lie again, but I could see on his face how little good it would do; I couldn’t see a way for him to make _that_ more obvious. He chuckled faintly. “Or perhaps you already have, from that look on your face. Shall I assume they’re currently floating down the river in the barrels that were meant to be sitting about where you’re standing?”

                “Possibly, yes.” He nodded, stepping closer to me, his head tilted to one side.

                “Do you plan on telling you why I shouldn’t kill you now, hobbit?” I gaped.

                “Um, well, it wouldn’t really do you much good now, would it? After all, they’re already gone, aren’t they? Killing me wouldn’t bring them back up here.” He laughed again, looking very oddly pleased. At least he was in a good mood, I supposed.

                “True enough; I see why they had you, now. You’re much cleverer than any of them. How did you manage to get down here, exactly?”

                “I’m quite small, as you can see. It was… easy to sneak,” I said, and while I don’t think he believed me, by any means, he seemed to know well enough not to press it.

                “Well, you’ve helped them free, in any case, though I’d imagine the orcs will be on them soon. Now what do you plan on doing with yourself?” I stared.

                “You could let me go,” I tried. “I’ll do you little good, after all.” He grinned, his eyes bright.

                “Now, that I’m not so sure of. From what I’ve seen, I’d imagine they’d have gotten nowhere very quickly were you not around. You know… come, sit with me for a moment; if I do not raise it, the alarm that they are gone will not be raised for some time. The sun is only just rising, after all, and our guards down here are not the best, as our best have become far too busy fighting the spiders and other such things in the woods themselves. There is something you ought to know, and perhaps your thick-headed companions will actually hear it from you.” I could only stare at him more, but by that point, I had little choice but to comply. He was, after all, keeping me alive, and while he did seem a bit… arrogant, he didn’t seem hostile, per se.

                “Alright,” I said, and he led me to the table where the elf slept very, very soundly. I noticed at last a few bottles of something scattered around, and supposed it really was no great shock that he’d not awoken despite the clatter.

                “Your mission is to kill the dragon Smaug and reclaim that mountain of theirs, is it not?” I nodded, and he sighed. “You cannot.” I blinked.

                “I can assure you, I already know just how unlikely this mission is. My contract expressly mentioned incineration, and other very dragon-y ways to die.” He chuckled again, but shook his head.

                “I’ll admit that if the matter was just killing the thing, that would be your main concern, but the matter isn’t just killing the thing. It’s that you _can’t_ kill it. Not long after it took Erebor and destroyed Dale, the dragon was almost killed my some very powerful wizard who was never recognized as one of the wizard order. That wizard recognized an evil there, and demanded that the dragon help keep that evil locked away in exchange for his life. I do not know what this evil is, but I do know that if Smaug is killed, it will go free. Truly, I don’t care at all whether those dwarves get that mountain back; I only care that they don’t kill the damned dragon, and I know my father won’t mention it as well as I know that they won’t listen to me.” Oh, dear. I could think of very few other ways to respond to that, really. What in the world… I sighed. Only I could manage to get myself entangled in such a right mess; I blamed the Took in me.

                “I suppose at this point that only makes sense,” I sighed. “So, what do you propose I do?” He shrugged.

                “Stop them from killing it, and, if you can, stop them from getting their hands on that rock of theirs. I’m pretty sure we’ve all got enough to deal with right now, with the orcs rising like they are, and I don’t think anyone wants to deal with another cluster of power mad dwarves along with a mysterious, nameless evil kept at bay only by a legendary dragon.” That… was quite true. I wondered if I could ever be a proper hobbit again after all of this. Probably not. I sighed.

                “Alright, I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t make promises. They _are_ a stubborn lot.” He snorted.

                “I’ll assume that’s an understatement, hobbit. Now, hop in a barrel, would you? I’ll send you on your way and raise the alarm. That’ll get some guards after you, and if the orcs have come as I suspect, they’ll keep them at bay so you all can escape. I’ll likely be along as well, but please, don’t act as if you’ve spoken to me.” You know, when I was a child, I imagined adventure as a pleasant stroll through the woods, happening across pleasant things, like Rivendell, along the way. I really, really wished quests were like that in truth; my life had gotten so very unpredictable since I threw my lot in with the company. I couldn’t help but laugh as I did what the elf, who I assumed was a son of Thranduil, had asked of me and climbed into a barrel of my own. He rolled me over the hatch and opened it, and at last, I was on my way after my friends.

                I discovered quickly that the elf had been right, when my barrel caught up to the rest; orcs were swarming but there, there were the elves; they fought well, and very beautifully, dancing about and seeming to kill an orc with every move. Even a few of the dwarves looked impressed, at least until the elf I’d met came and began hopping about on their heads to kill his targets. He did spare me a quick wink while he did, though, and at the very least none of the dwarves noticed _that_.

                When the last of the orcs were killed, however, the elf did keep his word; we passed him by, and he did nothing to stop us. He didn’t even raise his bow once as we drifted by him. Landing upon the shore was still a blessing, however, and I’m sure the lot of us were coughing up water for hours afterwards.

                By then, I was sopping wet and certain I was going to catch a cold in the chill weather; I had absolutely no desire to mention what I’d learned of Smaug, and I certainly didn’t know how to bring it up, nor how to explain where I’d learned it without saying the word “elf.” One day, I swore, I was going to find the one part of this quest that was _easy_.

                I decided as we made camp to go the direct route. That had always seemed the best option with them before, and I didn’t see that being any different then. I took a deep breath, gathered them around the fire, and spoke what I needed to speak, my teeth chattering and my hair still dripping slightly.

                “We can’t kill Smaug.”

                “ _What_?” The dwarves really did work together exceptionally well; they said that all together, and their eyes all went simultaneously wide. Even Thorin’s, oddly enough. I had at least said, it, though. Of course, I was quite certain that I was going to have to wait some time (likely an hour, at least) before the rabble died down enough that I could say anything else.     


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, I'm just a tiny bit late with this one, huh? You know, a very, very little. Um. Sorry? I really, honestly don't have much of an excuse beyond oopsy daisy at this point, so, yeah, I'm just going to leave it at that and hope the chapter itself makes up for it. Enjoy! Oh, and if it's at all possible, I might try to get another chapter up this week, just as a final apology as I attempt to get back on schedule, but it all kind of depends.

                I waited very patiently for the dwarves to finish their… outburst; admittedly, it actually took at least ten minutes less time than I was expecting. I do think that Thorin nearly tore his wounds again again with the way he was gesticulating, though, and I’m quite certain that I’ll never hear cursing quite that creative ever again. I had to laugh a little at the thought, until Kili took me by the arms and shook me, his brother close at hand and sporting a frown that looked rather a lot like a younger, less broody Thorin frown.

                “Bilbo, this is no laughing matter! Where has your confidence gone? Of course we’ll be able to kill Smaug!” I sighed, but it came out with a certain vibrato as he was still shaking me a bit. At last, I finally gave in and simply put my hands on his elbows to stop him that way.

                “I don’t doubt our _ability_ , Kili; in fact, I’m quite certain that we could manage to do it. More, I doubt the… wisdom of doing so.” And that was when Thorin narrowed his eyes. I swear, one day those dwarves will be the death of me.

                “Oh? And why is that, Master Baggins?” he asked, and I rolled my eyes; better than Halfling, at least.

                “I simply do. What if there is a reason for Smaug being there? A greater reason than mere greed?” I looked around at the assembled dwarves and found thirteen expressions of sheer incredulity, eyebrows fully nestled in available hairlines. I say again that it truly was impressive, how in touch with one another they were.

                “It’s a… dragon, Bilbo,” Bofur said, as if _that_ particular fact were news to me. “What does it know but greed and destruction?” To hear his normally cheerful, lilting voice say such a thing, fall into a shadowy past knew but hadn’t seen, made me ache, a bit, but I knew well enough what I had to say. I nodded.

                “Very true, but how many dragons do you know of that have held a fortress with such riches for that long? Some hero always comes about and slays it rather quickly, correct? So how has Smaug lasted so very long, especially if he has been sleeping all this time, as the stories say? I think we must consider the possibility that Smaug’s slayer has been and gone, but perhaps left him alive for something.” They stared at me as if I were a stranger come to snatch every weapon and every scrap of food and drink from camp.

                “Bilbo, Smaug is a very powerful beast. I’m certain that few could even hope to slay him even as he sleeps,” Balin said, but I could see the thoughtful glints spreading through all of their eyes. Good; at least, I supposed, they were considering it.

                “But what if that is not so? What if slaying him would only make everything worse?” Dwalin huffed.

                “And? If this little fancy of yours is wrong, I don’t imagine that the beast will lie down and let us have another go at him.” I gritted my teeth, staring up at them with more bravery than I’d ever thought I would have.

                “No, I don’t imagine he would. That might cause issues, if I were wrong, but I am not.” That elf had had little reason to like, after all, unlike, perhaps, the man I assumed to be his father. It was my confidence, I think, that truly began to sway them. “Of course, if you all are truly frightened that we could not win a fair fight, I will speak to him alone.” And it was their pride that set them fully at my side; after all, I was quite certain that no self-respecting dwarf would ever let it be said that he was more cowardly than a hobbit, of all things.

                “We… will stand by you, hobbit,” Thorin said, pride gleaming in every line of his face. I smiled, nodding, as the other dwarves surrounded me with hard, serious sets to their faces. I felt a certain warmth, then, the warmth of the friendship, of the… family that they had become. I smiled faintly, nodding, as they all settled around me to rest. The chilly night curled around us, but still I felt that same, wondrous warmth around me.

* * *

 

                We started moving very early the next day, and, after encountering a very kind man from Laketown who led us into the city, we found… trouble. Kili had apparently been hit with a poisoned arrow, and he grew very ill very rapidly. So too were there many there who cared little for us and our quest, so much so that we were faced with violence. Of course, I didn’t imagine that the political turmoil we’d wandered in on was helping much either; tensions were high, and we, strangers from far away who threatened to awaken Smaug the Terrible again, were quite unwelcome, obviously.  I worried, faintly, that we would be stopped there, and that… that I couldn’t stand for. We had come too far, faced too much, to be turned away at the door, and I _would not stand for it_.

                And so, we fled; not with all of us, of course, as Kili couldn’t walk, and Oin stayed to care for him. Fili, obviously, would not be parted from his ailing brother’s side. As for where Bofur was… well, that I honestly had no idea, but I assumed that there would surely be a fine tale about it later.

                I felt unusually serious as we left, unusually stiff and a little afraid. After all, no matter my confidence, it was still a dragon we were set to face, and if I was wrong… to put it lightly, I didn’t imagine that he would be too terribly forgiving, as Dwalin had said. At last, though, I finally settled; matters were dire enough without me doubting what I’d been told. I swallowed, relaxing as best I could and staring up at the looming, frozen mountain.

                This was the place we’d been aiming for all these long months; Erebor, Thorin’s mountain, the lost dwarven kingdom. Home now of the great dragon Smaug, of a treasure hoard to best any other, of the Arkenstone. I wondered how I could manage to fetch that before the dwarves found it, to hide it away so it wouldn’t corrupt Thorin as it had his ancestors. Perhaps I could convince one of the other dwarves to help me, or perhaps even Smaug himself. Yes, I thought, nodding faintly to myself; I would do this. I’d always wanted an adventure, ever since the moment I’d understood what one was. I certainly wasn’t going to let my first have anything except a happy ending.

                We spoke softly as we travelled towards the place where the hidden door was meant to be, Thorin clutching the key so tightly that I felt certain that it would cut his hand and make him bleed. His face was hard and tenser than was usual, and the rest of the company simply looked riddled with nerves, with a certain sort of joy.

                This was the final precipice, I knew, the last leap before the end, or at least the end of this first story. We only had to make this last jump. Gooseflesh pimpled my skin as the moon began to rise, and while there was a moment wherein we thought it wouldn’t work, that we wouldn’t get the door opened, I eventually figured it out, though the key was nearly lost in the process.

                The door opened like a sigh, stagnant air pouring from the mountain, and with a last, deep breath, we stepped inside. Even I could feel the power in those halls, in the drawings on the walls; there was a certain magic in those halls, one that I was sure I barely knew. I could only say for certain that it was a fine place for an ending. If I had but known that it was an equally fine place for a beginning, I might have been a bit more nervous.

* * *

 

Smaug’s POV

                The moment the door opened, I felt it; I always knew it, when anything odd happened within the mountain. The damned wizard had made it mine, if nothing else, though that had done little but make me understand that silly human phrase, “be careful what you wish for.” I blew a faint stream of smoke into the air, attempting to hide the new smell of dwarf that had come in with the opening of the door. It seemed as though these dwarves hadn’t even bothered to bathe recently either, though I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Although… I let the smoke dissipate and took in another deep breath.

                There was something else, something underneath the dwarf stench. Another breath. Unfamiliar, foreign, like dwarf but not. There was something… earthy about it, a deep, warm smell that contrasted sharply with the scent of stone and metal that lingered on the dwarves. I had never smelled anything quite like that before, and admittedly, I might’ve perked up a bit.

                I had, after all, been trapped within the mountain for many, many years, seeing the same things, smelling the same smells, feeling the same coins beneath my feet. Anything new was quite welcome, by then, even if the new, interesting thing was being accompanied by a party of dwarves. I pulled myself to my feet, the coins avalanching down around me, and took a quick step onto more solid ground as I felt them set to traipsing through the mountain towards me. I wondered how they would react; perhaps I’d get to terrify them a bit, before I attempted to tell them why they weren’t allowed to kill me.

                A sharp chuckle swirled at the base of my throat, though I’m sure that if I actually attempted to voice it, it would sound rather a lot like a growl. Most of my vocalizations of that manner did; product of my voice, I supposed. It had been too long since I’d last met a dragon for me to really know for certain, though I certainly had plenty of assumptions. I wondered if they yet lived in the far away mountains where I had once made my home, or perhaps beyond them; surely there was yet more earth to discover. I let my head sway to either side, then, sighing out a breath of flame. That was something to worry over once I was released from my gilt prison.

                Finally, I felt the party nearing my resting place, and took a step back to make certain that I wouldn’t be faced with flying spears the moment they entered the room. In fact, I was a bit shocked when I wasn’t; in fact, they didn’t even have their weapons drawn, and rather than one of the larger dwarfs of the party, perhaps the dark headed one I faintly recognized from however long before, leading the party, a little… thing was at the head.

                It, I supposed, was the thing that had smelled so strangely; a quick breath assured me that it was. I cocked my head at it, quite intrigued. After all, it was dwarf size, but it lacked a beard, and its hair was quite short otherwise, though the thick covering of it over its feet was quite odd. So too did its ears, softly pointed like an elf’s, confuse me. I had never seen anything of the like before, actually, and I was compelled to incline my head at it when it bowed.

                “My, my, what have we here?” I asked, staring down at them, “A party of dwarves and a… new thing, eh? Trying to fool me, as if its smell would overcome that of dwarf?” The dwarves looked quite ready to draw their blades and run at me, but the thing shook its head and held them off.

                “I am a hobbit, actually, and we didn’t think to hide. We’re here to… to talk.” It tried to sound brave, truly, I know as much, but there was a faint waver to its voice.

                “Oh?” It nodded.

                “Yes. We know that… that we aren’t allowed to kill you, that you’re necessary here. We want to help, though, to set you free so that the dwarves can have their mountain back.” Some time has passed since something has managed to shock me; the “hobbit” managed it rather well. They knew. They knew that I was stuck here, that a fight was pointless. I almost wanted to laugh, after all the possibilities I’d imagined, none of which were thin coming true. Perhaps this truly would be a chance to set myself free and return to my old mountain, if they could but defeat the evil. I grinned, but it made them all reel backwards, I assume because of the size of my teeth.

                “Do you now? Then it seems that we have much to discuss.” I’ve never seen so many dwarves look so sufficiently chastised as when the little creature gave them a hard look at those words. I almost laughed again, actually; oh, but I was going to _like_ this intriguing creature, I was certain of it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So, I'm just going to say that I'll cut the updating to once every two weeks (still on Wednesdays) until I get everything together again and manage to get a couple of chapters ahead. I really hate to do that, obviously, but I figure it'll at least be better than leaving anyone hanging. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Things really should be settling down at least a little in upcoming weeks, even with Christmas coming up, so I figure it probably won't even be too long before I can get back to once a week! Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving everybody, however belated!

Bilbo’s POV

                Honestly, sitting down in front of Smaug on the gargantuan pile of gold was likely one of the more… confusing things I’d ever done. Not so confusing as the moment I fled Bag End to chase after a party of dwarves, of course, but still quite confusing indeed. I cleared my throat, softly, and stared up at the massive dragon’s molten eyes; how did one start a conversation with a dragon and avoid being eaten shortly thereafter? I wasn’t entirely sure, but I hoped I would be able to manage it well enough, given the situation I was then faced with.

                “So, you are…,” I began, but the dragon only seemed to laugh, its lips curling back from its enormous, curved teeth.

                “A dragon? Smaug? Imprisoned here? Ask me your questions, little hobbit thing, and I’ll give you your answers, if I have them.” The dwarves behind me clenched their fists and glared, looking for all the world like they might still charge the dragon, no matter the potential consequences.

                “I want to know why you’ve remained here so long,” I said, “And I want to know what you’re defending against.” The confidence was unexpected even by myself, given the simple ease with which Smaug could end me. He let out a thin breath of smoke, and it drifted around my face, too hot and too close.

                “I’d be forever grateful if you could answer those questions for me. I’m afraid all I know is that a Wizard… shall we say conscripted me into his service to guard against something in this damned mountain. As for what exactly that something is, I couldn’t say; all I can truly say is that I’ve felt it stirring of late.” The dwarves looked to be sneering, but then, I probably should’ve expected that as well; I didn’t imagine that they were too terribly fond of this sort of talk.

                “We haven’t got a monster in our mountain but for you!” one of them, I think perhaps Ori, yelled, and Smaug swayed his head a little, chuckling again.

                “Obviously you do. Under your feet, right now, slowly stirring, waiting to overtake me and kill whatever it sees. If that village thought I was a blight, I can’t imagine what it will call this,” he said, and I sighed.

                “Please don’t set them to fighting, Smaug. It took long enough to simply get them agree to come up here. Now, you say it’s stirring? What precisely do you mean by that?” He rolled his golden eyes, looking for all the world like how I imagined a spoiled little dwarfling might look. The idea forced me to bite back a few chuckles; I didn’t think that Smaug or the dwarves would appreciate being told how much alike they truly were.

                “I mean that it is awakening, hobbit. I’ve felt it moving, and clawing for me. I imagine it won’t have much of an issue killing me, if given enough time to do so. Now, I am admittedly quite against this; I want to be here no more than you dwarves want me staying. So, I propose you help me slay this thing where it lies, I will go, and you all may frolic in your gold to all the content of your heart.” Had he hands, I’m certain he would’ve waved one of them disinterestedly, as though what he said was the simplest thing imaginable. As it stood, he simply allowed his eyes to roll, his expression to turn faintly mocking, for a scarce moment.

                “As though that’s all there is to it, eh?” The air steamed with his laugh, and though I didn’t think he’d hurt me then, having his gaze fixed on my face alone was… unnerving, especially given all he’d seen, though I supposed, from the way he’d reacted, a hobbit hadn’t appeared in his prior experiences. Dragons were curious creatures, weren’t they? I was certain that I’d read as much at least once before, though I couldn’t for the life of me remember where, though I owned a precious few books about dragons.

                “Oh, but I _do_ like you! You planned to kill me, did you not? Or some of you did, at least. I don’t imagine you dwarves are precisely happy with me, in any case, but I assure you, I truly don’t want to be here any longer either. I tired of this fortress some time ago; I want nothing more than to be allowed to return to the far mountains.” Thorin’s rage was blatant, perhaps more so than I ever recalled it being, even after the trouble with the trolls early in our adventure. Even I almost feared the way his eyes looked, then, darkened to near black with storm clouds and swirling with memories I couldn’t imagine, much less comprehend. That he was resisting attack seemed a miracle, but perhaps I never did give him enough credit.  I was about to speak again in response, but instead, Thorin nudged me out of the way and came to the head of his company once more. In a way, I suppose I felt relieved.

                “You will help us fight whatever it is?” The dragon almost seemed to raise the ridge of his brow.

                “Certainly. What else might I do, lay here? If I did such, you would all be slain in a breath, I’m sure. I say again that I want to be released, not languish here for millennia.” Thorin’s jaw was clenched, his teeth surely grinding, but he nodded nonetheless.

                “And you give your word that you will leave the moment your bonds are broken?” Smaug nodded, massive head lowering again so that he looked Thorin more directly in the face.

                “I give my word, and call it my new bond.” Once again the dwarf king nodded his agreement, all to the tune of the collective intake of breath I heard behind me. The battle-ready lot of them seemed more shocked than they’d ever been, which was, perhaps, the truest shock after so many surprises had been thrust at us along the way.

                “Perhaps it is too long in coming, Bilbo, but I trust you in this. Do not let it be misplaced. Now, dragon, how shall we fight this beast of yours?” Smaug stretched languidly, almost as though he _wanted_ to bother the dwarves, though that, I supposed on second thought, was a silly idea. After all, he was a dragon; they were meant to be the wisest, most ancient of creatures, in addition to being the most deadly.

                “I wouldn’t be so eager were I you. It lives in… a separate plane, shall I say, beyond this one. It will take me time to open the way there, likely all night. I would suggest the lot of you finding a place to rest while you wait. You may leave your hobbit thing with me, however. I have questions for it, now that it has asked so many of me.” Oh, bother. I suddenly had a massive dwarven coat, and multiple bits of beards and moustaches draped atop my head. A stray strand of deep auburn tickled my nose. I sighed; truly this had become my life; I wondered what Lobelia would think for a quick moment until I realized that she would likely pass out before she thought much of anything. This probably was grounds for me to lose rights to Bag End, however, or at least my silver. At that I couldn’t hold back a chuckle, and the dwarven arms tightened exponentially.

                “I believe it will be alright, my friends,” I said, “I don’t imagine he’d hurt me now that we’ve agreed to help. Don’t worry over it; go, get some rest. Off with you now.” More minutes passed, but finally, the arms did indeed loosen and I stood on my own again, though they were still scattered in a relatively tight now around me. That dissipation was much slower, of course, with each of them seeking excuses to stay, but Smaug remained silent, obviously refusing to speak until I stood alone with him.

                Eventually, that at last occurred as Thorin, the last to remain, slunk slowly from the treasure room, his footfalls echoing noisily in the stone halls. Smaug, at last, stepped fully atop the pile of gold, sweeping piles of it listlessly to either side. I moved warily closer as he kept sweeping it away, avalanches of it spilling from either side, until at last a patch of empty floor, carved with faint runes, appeared. I stared.

                “This will be where we step through. I’ve had much time to study it over the years, of course, and I believe it to be some sort of prison, likely concocted by the dwarves themselves however many years ago, when they yet knew a bit of magic themselves, before the rings such as the one you carry in your pocket were even forged. The beast on the other side was likely contained there so it would not cause trouble, but as the years have passed, these runes have faded, thus making the prison far weaker so that the beast might threaten escape. By now I would imagine I’m but a minor deterrent.” I listened to the story raptly as he moved, hooking random bits from about the room on his claws and settling them upon the ancient gateway. The mention of my ring had me rather nervous, however; I wondered what he knew of it, knew what it truly was. Perhaps he’d tell me.  

                I’d always been told that dragons were the finest storytellers in all of middle earth; after all, they had lived the majority of the old tales, and with clearer eyes than any hobbit, to be sure. To hear him speak then, voice clear and knowing, I felt as if an ancient dream were being fulfilled; not even my mother had met a dragon, and she’d been one of the most well-travelled hobbits to ever live.

                “But still a deterrent, at least,” I said, and he chuckled again, scratching the lines on the floor in a bit more deeply now that he apparently had all the objects he needed to conduct whatever ritual it was he wanted to conduct.

                “Indeed, though I say again for not much more time,” he said, before listing into a soft, rumbling chant. By the time he fell silent, the cleared area of the floor was glowing a distantly reddish color, and his murderously curved teeth flashed with his smile. He settled, then, far from the circle, and jerked his head at me. I took that to mean that I ought to follow him, and when he lay down, I sat in front of him.

                I understood suddenly what people meant when they spoke of being trapped in the den of a sleeping Warg; the danger wasn’t immediate, but it was certainly present, and it was equally difficult to be unaware of it. I swallowed thickly as the dragon gazed at me.

                “Well? You said you wanted to ask me something,” I stated, trying for confident but likely falling at least a little bit short.

                “Did I? Your dwarves lingered for so long that I’d nearly forgotten. I simply wondered what, exactly, you are; you say hobbit, but you smell… strange. I’ve never seen something like you, and your little ring is not precisely something one comes across in the day to day.”

                “The ring I found,” I murmured, “In the goblin tunnels, in the possession of… he called himself Gollum. I don’t know what he was, and this ring… all I know of it is that it turns me invisible, and that it comes in handy. As for myself, I come from the Shire, where all the hobbits are born. Most of us stay there always, though a few venture a bit farther. I, as far as I know, am the first to be so far flung.” Interest flickered in the dragon’s eyes, stark and bright in the gold.

                “Oh, my. We, little hobbit, have very, very much to discuss by morning.” I suppose I should’ve heard something ominous in that, but the interest was… perhaps flattering is the most proper word. Besides, the dragon had thus far been nothing but accommodating, if a bit rude periodically, and I had always been rather curious myself. I grinned brilliantly, settling comfortably before the gargantuan creature.

                “I should hope so,” I replied, and the light grew brighter in his eyes. This would, I supposed, be an informative evening indeed, one way or another. Hopefully I wouldn’t end up in cinders by dawn’s light.          


	4. Chapter 4

                Smaug gazed at me as if I were some sort of artifact, never before seen and impossible to understand. I’m quite certain that no one has ever bothered looking at a hobbit like Smaug was looking at me then; after all, hobbits are rather simple creatures, or so it has always seemed to me. We like our home and our parties and our meals, and we spend our time doing simple things. Of course, I suppose I myself am something of a rarity, but really, that was no excuse to stare at me quite like that. I coughed, squirming a bit under the scrutiny.

                “Well?” I finally asked, and Smaug lowered his head to look me more directly in the eye. In a way, it was actually a bit comforting, as if he wanted to place us on a slightly more level playing field.

                “Tell me about hobbits,” he finally said, inquisitive and a bit harsh, but certainly not particularly dangerous, or even cruel. Even still, it wasn’t precisely an easy request.

                “It’s not so simple, really. We’re an entire group, after all; it’s difficult to describe so many in so few words. It would be a bit like saying that all dragons are flying, destructive monstrosities, wouldn’t it?” Smaug snorted, smoke slipping from his mouth and nose and floating wispily around my head. I smiled; the warmth, at least, was quite welcome so deep underground.

                “I’d assumed that everyone thought that true,” he said, and I shook my head.

                “You’re not hurting anyone now, are you? As for your request… I suppose it’s fair enough to say we’re a simple people. We like the small things; good food and good company, a nice evening spent with a book or a pipe. We don’t stray from the Shire; it’s good, green land and very few care enough to bother us there. We’ve only suffered hardship once, to my knowledge, during the Fell Winter when white wolves and Orcs attacked us. That was the only time we fought as well, I believe.” Smaug looked exceptionally confused, and for some reason, that made me feel almost proud.

                “You… are not warriors?” I laughed.

                “Certainly not! Why, the closest I ever came to battle before I took up with the dwarves was tussling with a cousin of mine over the last piece of fresh bread! As I said before, I am, as far as I know, the only hobbit to have ever strayed so far from home; the furthest any had gone before was Rivendell.” He nodded, edging faintly closer like an eager fauntling at story time.

                “So you are not warriors. Perhaps farmers? You smell strongly of soil and green things as the dwarves smell of stone and shining things. You’re tied to it, yes?” I nodded, smiling myself with the memory.

                “Yes; we’re of the earth, us hobbits, and we do farm, but generally only enough for ourselves. Sometimes, of course, we sell to some others, mostly the few humans in Bree, but it’s only rarely, when we truly must.” He tilted his head, expression surprisingly blatant.

                “Isolated, then, and separate from the troubles of the world. Not weak, however, or at least not you; you’ve gained the marks of iron and blood. Why involve yourself in the hardships of those dwarves?” That was a simple question, after all this time; perhaps the simplest one I’d ever been asked.

                “I love my Shire, and my home there, Bag End. I’ve never truly known anything else, beyond, perhaps, the fields and the forests surrounding it. I’m not built for adventuring, really; for a long time I thought the worst trouble I could befall was forgetting my handkerchief at home. These dwarves, though… they don’t know home as I do; they’ve lost theirs. I swore to them that if I could help them get it back, I would do so, simply because I cannot imagine losing my own.” A dragon’s smile was quite unnerving, what with all the teeth; Smaug’s was exceptionally so, but somehow, I found myself growing a touch attached to it.

                Although despite the smile, he did look confused, at least a bit, as though my reply were unexpected. Perhaps it was; I was under no illusions that what I’d done was normal, or sane, or… well, really it had just been a bad idea all around, honestly, but still. I shrugged like I needed an excuse.

                “I’d call that noble, were it not exceptionally stupid. They are dwarves, you think any one of them would have done the same had a roving band of hobbits requested their aid?” I chuckled, shaking my head.

                “I couldn’t say, though I imagine they would now even if not before. They’re my friends.” That really did leave him shocked, I think; he truly didn’t care for dwarves, obviously, if ever I thought it might’ve been an act.

                “A hobbit befriending dwarves. Dwarves befriending _anyone._ Surely this is an event for the history books!” That did startle a laugh out of me, however unwillingly.

                “Perhaps so, though I think a dragon asking aid of both groups to defeat a mysterious evil is more remarkable still.” He nodded, letting out a sigh that shook a pile of gold from the top of the mound.

                “Likely so; believe me, I do not relish in doing so. Now, do you think I might ask what, exactly, was the plan before you knew of my… troubles? And, perhaps, how you did learn of them?” I crossed my legs, attempting to find a touch more comfort on the hard stone floor.

                “I learned of what truly happened to you from an elf in Mirkwood, though I ask that you not tell the dwarves that. As for the original plan, I was meant to be the burglar, to creep here and steal the Arkenstone as you slept.” Smaug nodded, expression very bland and very unimpressed indeed.

                “Ah, yes, the bane of Durin’s line; I should’ve assumed that silly little stone was the reason for this assault. I wonder still how they’ve not yet learned that the stone is the source of their madness.” The words made me nervous again; I knew the stone was dangerous, of course, or at least I’d assumed, and I’d been told to keep it from Thorin, but I knew well its importance to him, to his family.

                “What… what is the Arkenstone, exactly? I’ve been told that I shouldn’t allow Thorin to have i.” Smaug let his head sway from side to side, a refusal if ever I saw one.

                “No, unless you wish him to succumb to the madness of his forefathers, you should not give the stone to him. It is… an old thing, obviously, with magic of its own and long ago bound to set fire to Durin blood. A pretty little bauble, I do admit.”

                “All Durins?” I asked, and Smaug inclined his head.

                “All who see it, yes.” So even Fili and Kili would suffer the gold sickness if I allowed the Arkenstone to remain. I truly would have to do something, then, anything to keep it away.

                “I know that there is no lost love between you and the dwarves, Smaug, but I beg you; help me keep it from them. That shocked him, too; it seemed as though I was skilled at as much. At last, however, the dragon nodded.

                “I suppose I might. After all, they have left me such a pretty, interesting thing, have they not? I suppose I owe you as much for being an interesting diversion. I shall dispose of the stone upon our return to this room, yes? After defeating the beast.” It took me perhaps a few moments longer than it should have to truly understand his words.

                “Pretty?” I finally asked, very likely sputtering at least a bit, and Smaug laughed.

                “Indeed. Have I overstepped my bounds? I assure you, in any case, that I was not lying, though if you prefer I not say so, I will not.” Those eyes burned, brilliant gold, and I couldn’t resist smiling, a bit. After all, it wasn’t often that I got such compliments, and certainly never from… well, a dragon.

                “I suppose I don’t mind,” I said, quietly, and he almost seemed to bow.

                “That is good, little hobbit.” I sighed.

                “Bilbo, if you please,” I told him, unwilling to deal with another who called me anything but my name.

                “Bilbo, then,” he said, curling slightly around himself, almost appearing to yawn. “Now, shall we sleep? The night grows old and the portal will soon be ready.” That, I supposed, was a reasonable request, or at least as reasonable as anything else I’d faced in the past months, though it really was a shame that a dragon requesting me to have a nap was the most reasonable thing that had occurred of late. In any case, I moved a bit nearer to the dragon, basking in his warmth in the chilly cavern, and, with shocking speed, fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

                Dawn came far too early, an unfamiliar, too large hand shaking me awake. I jolted away, gasp on my lips, as I was faced with a tall man I didn’t recognize, dark haired and thin, eyes blazing gold.

                “Good morning, Bilbo; the portal is ready, and your dwarves should be here shortly, bringing with them those who arrived from Laketown hours ago, as if enough of them haven't come traipsing through here. It is time for us to enter the monster’s world.” I stared at him. He sighed. “I am Smaug, hobbit; look at the portal. Does it appear as though I could actually pass through that in my other form?” I stared. The portal was about the size of an average door, I could admit, but even still… this was quite unexpected. I cleared my throat, trying to think of what was best to say next, but I couldn’t manage to think of anything. Smaug’s lips quirked, eyes alight with amusement as he straightened the clothes he’d apparently found somewhere in the cavern.

                “Oh,” I finally said, and he laughed, holding out a hand.

                “Shall we, hobbit? I look forward to this journey.” I suppose that, like many other things that had happened recently, should’ve been ominous. Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to see it as such. I took his hand. I _had_ wanted an adventure, after all; I saw nowhere in the world where I might get a better one.   

                “As do I.” I’ve never seen someone look happier than he at that very moment, when the dwarves marched into the room like fine soldiers, and, standing by us, stepped through the glowing portal into an entirely different world.


	5. Chapter 5

                Everything was dark; shadows seemed to cling to everything, even those things that should not have cast a shadow. The air felt thick as well, almost as if full of smoke, and I could scarcely even see a foot in front of myself. There was a certain… wrongness to the place despite my lack of sight, however, a strange, oily feeling I could not overcome. A light wind blew, whistling softly through unseen yet nearby halls and doorways, and it bit through my clothes and skin like pure ice. Somewhere, far away, I was certain I heard the rattle of chains. My hand twitched, and I was actually a little shocked to find that I still held Smaug’s in my own. The dwarves didn’t seem to notice, however, too busy gazing around the area curiously, obviously able to see far better than I was able. I assumed it came from a life in mountains and in mines; those who I knew were actually miners, after all, appeared to be having the easiest time of it.

                “It looks a bit like some old dungeons I’ve seen drawings of,” Ori said, far too excited for the situation, and I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, shaking my head; I truly did like him. He’d actually probably been the most curious about me over the entire journey, actually; we’d spend many nights simply speaking, he enquiring about my culture and I about his. Honestly I’d probably still be entirely in the dark about dwarven culture if not for him. I almost couldn’t believe I’d ever thought that _hobbits_ were overly secretive about our culture, really; we couldn’t hold a candle to dwarves in that regard.

                “It does,” Thorin said, a bit suspicious. “Dragon, where is this?” I heard Smaug heave a sigh, but it wasn’t nearly as threatening in a form so much smaller than his previous.

                “I’ve already explained, dwarf. Are you truly that dull-witted, or have I caught you on a particularly good day?” Sightless as I was, I could still imagine quite clearly the expression Thorin was making then.

                “Try my patience, dragon, and you might be left here.” Smaug only laughed, and I actually thought it foolish, him testing Thorin so. After all, the dwarf might not have been a dragon, but I was quite certain that, given proper cause, he could easily be as deadly as one. Oh, but that would be a good story to tell when I returned to the Shire! Everyone would certainly enjoying hearing how I was far more frightened of a dwarven king than a dragon already proven capable of destroying a village and conquering a fully inhabited mountain.

                “If anyone is left it will be you; I’m the only one able to open a portal back, fool creature.” Inappropriate as it likely was, I did roll my eyes at them, a bit; we were, after all, preparing to battle what was likely a monstrous beast, and there they stood bickering like children.

                “Don’t you think it would be wise to stop fighting amongst ourselves, now?” I said, sighing, and the two actually seemed to jolt a bit. Children, the both of them; I almost would have sworn as much, and I, having watched the fauntlings in the Shire for many years, had good grounds to judge such things. They even only grunted in response, as if speaking their agreement when the other did not would make them lose some invisible battle!

                Still, I suppose it wasn’t too terrible; the group was still functioning, in any case, and that was actually better than what I was expecting. I’d been almost certain everything would devolve into a massive scrap the moment we stepped through the portal, actually; a little bickering was like a perfect success compared to that! I would’ve liked it had Smaug not dragged me to the head of the group with him, however; obviously he could see well in the darkness, and he would likely know better than any of us where the beast actually was, but still, I saw no reason for me to be up there with him. If anyone, it likely should’ve been Thorin. I have always heard that one should lead with their best foot, after all, and that surely wasn’t me.

                “Smaug-,” I tried, but the dragon only hushed me, moving slowly and making certain that the dwarves were close at our backs. I fingered the ring in my pocket with my free hand; if I wore that, I knew, I’d be able to see perfectly well, as well as in daylight.

                “Leave that alone,” he said, almost too silent for me to hear. “And you need to be up here, else you’ll get lost in the darkness. You do not see as well as we in its depths.”

                “I could hold a sleeve; I’ll be of little aid in the fight, in any case. It would be better if the fine warriors led, yes?” I saw a flash of gold as he turned his gaze down to me, and still was that stare a threatening, wild thing, even when set into the face of an otherwise normal man. I wondered why I still couldn’t bring myself to feel fear in the face of it; perhaps I’d just become desensitized to such things over the course of the journey. I almost laughed, and avoided it only because I knew the noise would be dangerous; I nearly couldn’t believe how worried I’d been about still being a gentlehobbit after all this, when, obviously, I hadn’t been such likely from the very moment I’d left the Shire and used that bit of Bofur’s shirt as a handkerchief.  

                “ _Hush_. It will hear us if you speak so now. Later, little hobbit.” Later, he said, as if it would matter what order we’d marched in later. It always is a shock, you know, when one discovers that a legend is not, perhaps, as true as first thought; that dragons were, in fact, frustrating, overly stubborn creatures rather than those of wisdom and grace was a particularly great one for me. I wondered if, one day, I’d ever be able to write my own legends and repair that particularly misconception. Perhaps I’d also make certain that everyone knew that dwarves were not, in fact, the overly prideful, greedy things the tales portrayed, but actually sometimes ridiculously playful and raucous and perhaps a bit rude but mostly harmless, when given the opportunity to be so.

                Smaug squeezed my hand again, maybe as some sort of comfort, and I blinked, making a note that in my tale of dragons, I should also include that they were, for whatever reason, oddly interested in hobbits. He flashed me a quick, almost apologetic smile that showed his teeth, still sharp, even lacking light, as if he thought I’d be upset at being told to be silent in such a situation. Yes, oddly interested in hobbits indeed… really it was quite confusing.

                In any case, that was a silly thing to focus on, then, given everything. We continued moving slowly, exceptionally so, our breath kept silent and faint, our steps light, though the quiet rattling of the dwarves’ armor was still faintly noticeable. Suddenly, however, another noise overtook it; dry, raspy, almost snake-like; something slithering nearby, in one of the halls or rooms. The chains rattled again, a distressingly weak sound in comparison to the rasping of the creature over the ground.

                We moved more quickly, then, following the rasping noise, and the chains rattled more noisily, the noise rather worrisome indeed. And then, when we were very near to the sound, we heard something like a roar, but perhaps a bit higher, more sibilant, and then, then we heard the snap of a chain and the rasp grew faster, almost eager. Free. The thought hit me like a horse flying down a path, sudden and unwelcome. The creature had freed itself, and now, now it was coming towards us.

                Smaug crouched, and I felt him drop my hand, half push me behind him as I drew my sword. It remained the plain color of metal rather than flaming blue, so I knew, at least, that we did not face anything we had ever faced before. I didn’t know whether to be assured by that thought or more frightened because of it. He growled, very, very low, too low for a human throat, and Thorin closely matched the noise, his own blade sliding free with an almost happy sound. Behind me I heard still more weapons being drawn as the company prepared for a fight. This, this, I could scarcely believe it; why oh why had I ever wanted adventure?

                I swallowed thickly as the rasping noise grew closer, until it was right atop us, and then, then the room blazed with sudden, nearly painful light from previously unseen sconces on the walls and I saw the creature clearly for the first time. What I saw nearly made me yelp.

                It was a were-worm, of all things, something out of a tale we hobbits told to get our fauntlings to sleep at night, not… not a _real_ beast, not something capable of being before me now! It stretched, baring long, curved white teeth, its massive eyes not gold like Smaug’s but cold, reptilian yellow. There was simply so _much_ of it, as well, all blurring together in a uniform, bloody red smear, massive head swaying before us wickedly, ready to strike.

                “Long-worm,” Smaug hissed, “And here I’d thought they were extinct, being so inferior to their descendants.” The dwarves stared at the beast almost thoughtfully, weapons aloft, and I could see them thinking the same; had I not been so near to it, I might’ve been embarrassed that I was the only one among them who’d never thought such creatures even real. Perhaps I would have been anyway had it not chosen that exact moment to strike at Smaug, had Smaug not chosen that exact moment to change suddenly into his natural form, the massive dragon once more. With the first plume of fire pouring from Smaug’s mouth towards the thing, I decided that I could be embarrassed later and sprang forwards, all the dwarves behind me.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that my busy season is over (or near enough to it, anyway) I think I'm going to try and get back to one a week posting. I'm not going to promise, obviously, since then I'd just feel bad if it didn't happen, but, hey, I think I'll probably manage it, for whatever that's worth! Anyway, hope everyone enjoys the new chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I posted on a one-a-week schedule again! Yay, I'm back! I almost can't believe it myself! Anyway, I hope the chapter itself doesn't suffer for it; please enjoy!

                The chill dungeon burned with sudden, deadly heat, along with light so bright that it stung my eyes even more than that which had exploded from the wall sconces had. I raised Sting and stumbled backwards. Chances were I’d have fallen as well were it not for whatever dwarf was behind me, who managed to catch me about the waist and settle me upright again. That isn’t to say it helped much in the long run, really; only moments later, when Smaug’s tail lashed back towards us as he lunged for the throat of the beast, I had to move backwards again, and this time, when my foot caught on a loose stone in the floor, I found no dwarf to catch me.

                I assumed it was because every last one of them had rushed forwards instead, weaving between and around Smaug’s massive legs to jab at the creature’s softer belly. For myself, I know I stared too long, frightened and surprised at the sudden assault, and of all the reasons Thorin had had to think me useless earlier in the quest, this was easily the most valid. I never had learned to fight, not really, or at least nothing beyond a few half-playful lessons orchestrated by Fili and Kili.

                My first sight of a dwarf flying passed me after having been flung away by a negligible swipe of the monstrosity’s tail sent me into as much action as I could manage, though; after all, I certainly had no plans to stand and live while they fought and died. Strange as it felt, I actually did charge, rushing beneath Smaug, who was serving as a more than sufficient distraction, to try and bury my blade in its chest. That much, I managed well enough, however surprising that might be. It was the aftermath of that that was the real trouble, actually.

                Its hide was thick, and it seemed I’d done a bit too well at stabbing it because I couldn’t for the life of me get Sting out again, and while I’d certainly hurt it, I hadn’t killed it. If anything, all I managed to do was anger it further. I did keep trying to retrieve the blade, though, and I went beyond the notice of everyone, including the worm, for some time, until I actually got the small sword to move a little and the monster shrieked.

                The dwarves startled, fixing eyes on me even as the worm fixed eyes on the source of its pain, and suddenly, I had a set of teeth flying towards me. Funny, how they were shorter and seemed blunter than Smaug’s, yet still I feared them infinitely more. It’s also a little funny the sort of thoughts a hobbit has when he’s about to die, looking back on it.

                I remember closing my eyes, hands still tight around Sting’s hilt out of some half-remembered thing Dwalin had said once, how a warrior never drops his blade while his heart beats, and could only think that I was about to die. I didn’t, though; a massive red curtain, Smaug’s wing I would later realize, knocked me back and shielded me. Smaug cried out, voice almost unnervingly human, and I watched the teeth tear easily through the thin skin. It looked almost more like an effect in a play, though only for a moment and only to my own fear addled eyes. Then it only looked painful and macabre and awful, like many of the things I’d seen over this journey.

                The dwarves let out a unified war cry and rallied, then, going after the beast with new vigor as it turned attention from Smaug’s now shredded wing to his newly unprotected body, zeroing in with ease on the weak place near his chest made by the broken scale.

                I stumbled to my feet; another dwarf was knocked away with careless ease. I only hoped they were alright, that Smaug would be alright; of all we’d done, I couldn’t imagine this being what ended us. I reached the worm at last and took hold of my sword again, felt the monster writhing and coiling, thick layers of muscle and hide keeping the blade embedded deep within itself yet also keeping me from using it to stab anything vital.

                Smaug’s fire blazed forth again, right in the creature’s face and eyes, but I saw little response even though I could feel the intensity of the flames myself, even though the arm nearest to it was scalded a bit from only the superheated air. Finally, though, I did actually manage to get my sword free again, just as Dwalin rushed by and landed a particularly hard strike with his hammer that surely broke bone.

                That, of course, caused the worm to turn again from Smaug, who even I could see was weakening, and face him and me. Something in me… I felt angry, truly, very angry, and lunged like a madman, unpracticed and clumsy, and when I struck out with Sting, the blow went wide but did manage to add some extra, if shallow, length to the original puncture I’d made. And then I felt teeth digging deep into my shoulder, the pain making darkness dance in front of my eyes wildly.

                I think I screamed, though honestly, I’m not sure; it could’ve been any one of the dwarves, for as well as I could hear through the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. As it stood, I wasn’t awake much longer anyway, though I was very suddenly dropped, which I’ll admit hurt quite a bit. The last I remember is groaning quietly, feeling my own blood dribbling onto cold stone, and the sound of someone cursing, low and wrathful and deadly in its unfamiliarity.

* * *

 

                To be entirely honest, I didn’t fully expect to awaken. That I did, and that when I did so I was no longer in the awful dungeon, was a pleasant surprise indeed. I felt warm as well, exceptionally so, and clean, though my shoulder throbbed angrily in time with a pulsing headache in my temples. I made a noise and heard things shifting in the room.

                The comfortable warmth around me increased as I was suddenly surrounded by dwarves again, thirteen curious sets of eyes looming blessedly over me. I allowed a little smile even though the movement made me ache, and when I tried to sit up, I was quickly lowered with a soft, too large, too pale hand. Smaug, I realized suddenly, and jolted, looking behind myself to find him settled behind me in the unfamiliar, man-like form he’d worn to enter the other realm.

                “Be still for now, hobbit. You were wounded rather grievously; it was only with magic I prefer not using that you even yet live.” I looked down at the throbbing shoulder and found it wrapped with clean, new bandages. I hadn’t known we had any of those left. Looking around at the dwarves who surrounded me, I found the majority of them hurt in some way as well, Thorin, his nephews, and Dwalin more so than the rest.

                “Oh, I’ll be well enough, I’m sure. I’m glad to see you all well, after that. You’re not hurt too badly, are you, Smaug? Your wing looked quite…,” I thought to say “tattered” but half-feared he’d see it as an insult. He ran a quick hand over my head, lightly having me lay as I had been before I’d awoken again.

                “I will fly again, simply not today; so long as I stay in this form and allow the other to heal, I should be well enough by week’s end. Of course, if your dwarves want me gone before then, I shall go.” He didn’t sound as if he’d be happy about it, of course, but he did sound believable, if nothing else. Thorin tensed his jaw, glancing at the remainder of the company, all of whom were staying completely silent, faces carefully blank in order to leave the choice to him.

                “Until you heal,” he said, “and I grant that only for your aid in killing the Long Worm.” Smaug actually chuckled.

                “Aid? I am the one that killed it, dwarf.” He lifted his chin, icy blue eyes cold and hard as steel.

                “After my burglar distracted it.” Another chuckle from Smaug, though this one sounded less amused and more annoyed.

                “And that is a very well-trained burglar you have there. One would almost think you _wanted_ him to run into a fight and kill himself, you’ve taught him such skill with a blade.” Thorin didn’t answer. I sighed.

                “I am a hobbit, Smaug, not a warrior; besides, it was never assumed that I’d fight during the course of this journey. The only skill I was to need was a lightness on my feet.” The dragon nodded almost distractedly, and I noticed suddenly that his hand hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d settled it in my hair.

                “That you have, certainly. Even I scarce saw you when you darted for it the second time. I should’ve asked you before why they wanted a hobbit so terribly for this quest, once you told me that you were no race of warriors.” I felt my mouth twitch.

                “Even a dragon can miss an important question, I suppose.” He snorted.

                “Indeed.” Silence filled the air, then, though the dwarves did edge a little nearer, and some settled hands on me lightly, Fili and Kili eventually going so far as to lie down and sleep beside me, heads on either side of my hips. Even Thorin seemed to want to stay near, and that really was unexpected. It was quite nice, though, being so close to so many, knowing that our quest was ended.

                I did wonder what the next morning would bring as I listed into sleep again, however. After all, how could anything possibly live up to the previous months? If only I’d had any idea, I might’ve wished that night for nothing more than a few years of nothing but laziness.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just realized that, somehow, I managed to make Fili, Kili, and all the rest who stayed in Laketown appear out of nowhere. I went back to an old chapter and fixed it so that they did actually appear by natural means, though; sorry about that!

                When I awoke the next time, I felt oddly like I was hovering. I squirmed, eyes still shut, and a set of hands tightened around me. A mere moment before I opened my eyes to discover where in the world and who was carrying me, I heard a familiar voice and decided instead to stay still for a bit.

                “And where, precisely, do you think you’re going?” the voice, Thorin, said, firm and dark. I head a smooth, easy chuckle above me from the one who held me, and felt the hands shift as whoever it was shrugged.

                “Simply walking, oh great and mighty king; is that no longer permitted for a dragon unable to sleep?” Smaug, then; I suppose I should’ve suspected. None of the dwarves could’ve lifted me so high, and they had large hands, I could admit, but not quite as large as those currently supporting me.

                “Certainly, only not with our hobbit. One would almost think you were trying to steal him away in the night while the rest of us slumbered.” Thorin’s voice was almost unfamiliar, then, seriously angry rather than simply frightened or annoyed. Oddly enough, I didn’t think I’d ever heard him speak that way, no matter how much he’d disliked me at the beginning of our quest.

                “Your distrust burns the heart from my very chest, my king. Why in the world would I steal a hobbit? Better yet, where would I take it? It’s not as if I can currently fly.” I could imagine the staring contest that ensued then, two mighty beings meeting eyes and waiting for the other to break. Smaug didn’t even move; I could scarce even feel him breathing. Eventually, though, Thorin actually let out something like a sigh, though it reminded me more of a heaving bellows.

                “If you only want a walk, why carry him? You said yourself he was quite hurt. Give him over to me and I’ll leave you to traipse around to your heart’s content. If you’d like, you can even leave,” he said, and Smaug’s chest rumbled. I’m unsure if it was in a laugh or a growl or some strange mixture of the two.

                “Ah, if only I could. I’m afraid I yet owe a favor, however.” Silence, for a moment, Thorin very likely making an inquiring expression underneath the inherent rage he seemed to develop in the face of the dragon, given that when Smaug next spoke, it was to clarify that. “Your hobbit. It was he who kept you thick headed barbarians from slaying me where I lay, was it not? For that at least I owe him something.” More silence, this stretch of it at least a little shorter than the last.

                “I would start by not thieving him away into the night.” This time the rumble was almost assuredly a laugh, deep enough that it almost seemed to vibrate through him and into me. He shifted me slightly in his hold, curling me a little tighter into his chest.

                “That would perhaps be good advice, were it not for the fact that I’ve done no thieving, only walking.” Somehow, I was noticing something of a theme to the conversation, mostly that it was going around and around in an increasingly ridiculous circle. Still, I was admittedly quite curious, and I didn’t think ‘waking up’ then would help me learn much. In any case, I heard Thorin’s annoyance easily when he replied to that, and I could understand it with the same ease, though I didn’t think he’d get far using brute conversational force against a dragon.

                “But why with the damned hobbit, Dragon?” Another shift as Smaug shrugged again.

                “He is quite warm. It’s a bit like carrying an exceptionally portable heat source, isn’t it?” Thorin didn’t even grace that with a period of thoughtful silence.

                “Give him here and have your walk, Dragon. I won’t even ask how you managed to pry him from under my nephews without waking them.” Smaug snorted, finally doing as Thorin asked with little reluctance and placing me in the new, slightly thicker but far nearer to the ground arms.

                “You dwarves are remarkably heavy sleepers. Or, the majority are. I’d say the same of hobbits if I knew more than the one.” Thorin didn’t respond, instead turning on his heels and moving quickly back to whatever room we’d bedded down in. He lay me down carefully, somewhere warm and soft, and almost immediately, I felt two arms toss themselves over me; Fili and Kili, I assumed, glad to have their pillow back. I tried to stay awake, truly I did, but my shoulder still ached, if not as much as before, and I felt heavy with weariness, not to mention the effect of the warmth and the companionship of the others. I dropped back into sleep with almost embarrassing speed.

* * *

 

Smaug’s POV

                I truly, truly dislike dwarves, and spending so much time far away from them has done little to soften that. The one they called king was likely the most bothersome of them, which truly was saying something given that these were quite possibly the most annoying dwarves I’d ever had to have extended interaction with. I suppose it was because they had one major difference from others of their ilk, and it had corrected the one flaw of theirs that I’d actually approved of; they were able to see value where others might not.

                Honestly, I hadn’t been trying to steal away with the hobbit. Not to say the thought didn’t cross my mind; it did, really, but as I’d told the foolhardy king, it wasn’t as if I could fly away with him, and I was under no illusions that, I could run from them on foot, especially not if they knew I had their burglar. They’d have me by sunset the next day, I was sure, and I didn’t think that the hobbit’s mercy would spare me then. Besides, I liked to consider myself at least somewhat polite, when given cause to be, and stealing hobbits while they slept seemed decidedly rude. I did like the little creature, after all.

                Really I’d simply wanted to be by him, and the dwarven snoring had finally gotten to be too much for me to handle, so I’d picked him up and set to wandering. Of course, that had only served to remind me of how little I’d miss those wretched halls, how much I wished to return to my own mountain so very many miles away. I’d have to speak with the hobbit when morning actually arose; I would have him come with me once I was well enough to fly, or at least after I made certain my own mountain was still secure, or could be made that way.

                Much time had passed since I’d met another creature I could actually speak with; the last, depressingly enough, had been the thrice damned Wizard that tangled me in this mess to begin with. I’d almost forgotten how much I missed the simple comfort of being with another living thing, and the hobbit had reminded me starkly, along with reminding me of the fact that there were yet plenty of things to discover upon Middle Earth, not the least of them being tiny, clever, brave creatures who were not warriors and not farmers and certainly not adventurers, yet were somehow perfectly adapted to burgling.

                I did not wish to lose that sudden companionship; I’d felt loneliness before, of course, I was far too old to have avoided such, especially given the relative scarcity of others of my ilk. Loneliness was always the worst when I’d had a taste of company, however, and the hobbit was nothing if not a taste of wonderful company. So too was there the matter of the silly rock I’d promised to help dispose of, my vow to help stop the corruption of good king Thorin’s heart, as though dwarven politics mattered a lick to me. I sighed, wandering slowly back to the noise-ridden, half-collapsed room near the cold forges where the dwarves had chosen to sleep, and settled again in a small empty space near Bilbo’s head.

                The moment I got comfortable, he wriggled a bit nearer to me, likely pleased at the addition of more warmth around him, though the two younglings were again draped over him like particularly bearded blankets. The king had seated himself against a wall, eyes closed and head tilted back, as though he couldn’t even lay amongst his own people, as if they needed his watching eyes even in the deepest depths of a mountain that had been uninhabited excepting me for so long that the dust appeared at least a foot deep. I shook my head, curling onto my side and cursing the sheer lack of flexibility of the form I wore. How men managed to do anything with so little ability to move astounded me.

                I settled my hand, admittedly better for such things than my usual clawed paw, in the hobbit’s wild curls. I felt the dirt, the tangles, and found it only made me more certain of how soft and pleasant it would feel if it were clean. Perhaps the next morning I’d show him the baths, which had survived rather well over my time here. While he cleansed himself of travel’s grime I’d, perhaps, fetch the Arkenstone from where I had it stowed and hide it somewhere for safe keeping until I could remove it entirely from the mountain.

                After all, years of being trapped here had led to a certain knowledge of the mountain that even those dwarves who had once called this place home would have lost. I knew every loose stone, every pitfall, every hidden room and chamber and how to reach them. If I were to leave the stone in one of these places for long they’d find it, certainly, but I didn’t need it there long; they’d search the treasury first, and even then they’d likely wait in order to rest and heal.

                I curled a little closer to the hobbit, trying to sleep but finding myself unable. I supposed over fifty years of sleep had a habit of causing some insomnia, and the day’s… excitement likely did little to help. So, I simply lay there until dawn, cradling the far smaller creature and valiantly resisting the urge to “accidentally” kick the dwarves in my “sleep,” given that I thought that to be rather childish, unnecessary behavior for a dragon of my age and wisdom.

                Not to mention the hobbit probably would have been upset. For whatever reason, he had a fondness for them, no matter how little I could bring myself to understand it, given that they were filthy, vulgar things with little concept for… well, anything, really. I’ve yet to have an even remotely intelligent conversation with a dwarf, and don’t imagine I ever will.

                In any case, dawn seemed far too long in coming, and I didn’t even manage a wink of sleep in the time. I’ve decided to blame that on the snoring more even than my fifty year nap; how Bilbo had grown so obviously used to it and able to sleep soundly in the face of it I would never know nor question. The story was likely too horrifying for anyone to hear. When dawn did arrive, however, it brought a new sort of madness. Apparently company had arrived in the night, company only very distantly and very minutely better than a party of dwarves.

* * *

 

Bilbo’s POV

                Elves. A whole army of elves, appearing before the fortress like morning mist, only with rather more archers. I thought Thorin would combust at the sight of them, he was so brilliantly angry. He’d even flushed a little, something I never thought I’d see, and Fili and Kili, both battered and bruised and in no condition to fight further (Kili especially, given his run-in with the poisoned arrow) weren’t far behind him.

                You know, I once thought that I wanted nothing more than a good adventure with some elves. Now, I’d much prefer cursing Gandalf for bringing the ragtag gaggle of dwarves to my front door, the dwarves themselves for making me like them enough to continue on this mad journey, the elves for appearing and making an already tenuous situation that much more volatile, Smaug for setting the whole mess in motion and actually having reason to remain, and myself for ever thinking I wanted an adventure of any sort.

                If only I could have meant any of what I just said, the situation might have been far better. As it stood, it looked as though I was going to have to play diplomat and stop the dwarves from gaining more holes in their bodies than was strictly proper. I set my jaw; I would see these moronic dwarves happy and healthy in their very own mountain again. I would also see the moronic dragon with the same, if a different mountain, given that I’d begun to like him a bit more than I should have as well. I almost wished the whole mess about incineration I’d once been so terrified of in my contract had been the worst possible outcome of this journey. Would’ve been far better than _this_ , in any case.


	8. Chapter 8

                Had I not marched outside the moment we noticed the elves, I shudder to think of what Thorin might’ve done. As it stood, I was only just barely quick enough to avoid having his fingers curl into the collar of my shirt and drag me back through the gaping hole that was then serving as our entranceway. Thranduil and his antlered mount stood at the front of the party, noble and too large for me to see clearly without tilting my head backwards. Admittedly, it was a bit… unnerving, especially given the army behind him, but even still I was honestly more annoyed than frightened. Apparently some less proper dwarven habits are quite contagious; whenever I saw the Shire again I’d surely catch myself using some of the more… creative curses the dwarves favored on Lobelia whenever she got too terribly bothersome.

                “King Thranduil,” I said, and the elven lord blinked down at me, shock flickering across his regal features for but a moment before he smoothed them back to complete and utter blandness. Slowly, very slowly, he dismounted from the Elk to stand before me, crouching just slightly so we could better look one another in the eye. I wouldn’t have expected the show of respect out of him, actually; funny, when I had never even spoken a word to him. I didn’t know whether to blame the Took in me or the dwarf in me for that one.

                “Master hobbit,” he said, “I confess I’ve yet to hear your name. I suppose you were the one who stole the dwarves away from my dungeons? I knew that they were travelling with one of your sort, but none of my hunters ever found you. I assumed you dead.” I coughed, quiet, and glanced behind me at the dwarves, only barely managing to catch sight of Smaug, who had tucked himself mostly behind the outer wall. The majority of the dwarves were fingering their weapons and glaring in a way I’d thought only Thorin capable of.

                “Bilbo Baggins,” I said, “At your service. And… and yes, I am the one who. Well, I didn’t _steal_ them, really, just let them out.” Thranduil actually laughed, holding out one thin, long hand for me to shake.

                “You are right, of course; you only stole my wine barrels.” I took the proffered hand, smiling warily even though he’d come here with an army, obviously expecting a fight.

                “Perhaps you ought to have them better guarded,” I answered, and the dwarves behind me muffled wild laughter desperately when Thranduil’s eyes went wide and his pale lips parted just slightly.

                “Very bold, for one of the Shire folk. Is that why you’ve been sent to see me rather than he who calls himself King Under the Mountain?” There was a touch of mocking in the voice, and he spoke like Thorin wasn’t near, couldn’t hear what was being said. I squeezed the hand I held once, light, as if any warning I gave would be taken by the Elven king, and then dropped it.

                “I believe he’d rather I went back, actually. I expect he thinks you’re going to kill me.” I kept my voice light and airy as I was able, hoping to defuse the tension. Thranduil tilted his head, cold, alien eyes flickering over to the doorway where the dwarves crowded, shifting on their feet, where Smaug tucked himself a bit further behind the wall.

                “Perhaps I should, Mister Baggins; I do not often take kindly to creatures sneaking into my dungeons and freeing my prisoners when I do not want them freed. Few kings would, I must say.” He said it just as lightly as I’d spoken before, and suddenly all of the elder dwarves held a younger one back from rushing the army like madmen. Except for Thorin, oddly enough; it almost looked as though Thorin was _being_ held back from here, though that was probably a silly thing to think. A piece of the wall near the door crumbled suddenly; how odd. I’d thought the place was a bit sturdier than that, given that it was still basically a mountain no matter the palace, the sprawling city, it contained within it.

                “I’d prefer you didn’t, obviously, and it likely wouldn’t help you much in getting whatever you’ve come here for.” Another laugh, the elf’s hand patting my shoulder once as he straightened his back and stood tall again.

                “Clever, clever; even without your remarkable ability to lurk through dungeons unseen with a party of thirteen dwarves I can see why they brought you. You really must tell me how you managed that one day, by the way; obviously if my guard is so poor I must learn how to improve it. As for what I’ve come here for… it is not only one thing, I assure you, and I would prefer speaking of it to your king. I did not expect to find you all here at all, actually; I had of course heard that Oakenshield’s company reached this point, but since I heard nothing of the dragon I assumed it had slain you.”

                I stared, a moment, and I’m sure that I can be well forgiven for that. After all, it wasn’t as though I were _used_ to such compliments, most especially not from beings like Thranduil who I knew only as being a, in Kili’s… unique parlance, “cold hearted frilly elven bastard without a drop of kindness in him for anything other than his stupid deer thing.” I cleared my throat as if I thought he could hear me think that, then stepped aside to let him go to Thorin. He kept a hand on my shoulder, though, walking with me to Thorin, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to think then.

                “So, King Thorin Oakenshield,” Thranduil said, “The King Under the Mountain has finally managed to get a mountain. How impressive, and with but twelve dwarves, a hobbit, and a particularly meddlesome wizard to serve as aid. I wonder, how did you manage to dispose of the dragon, and its… charge?” he asked, fingers actually drumming on my shoulder like he was impatient. Someone made an angry noise and I heard something crunch behind me. Honestly I was a little scared to even look.

                “You _knew_?” Thorin snarled, and I knew what he meant the beast we’d faced in that dark world, the worm. Thranduil arched one graceful brow.

                “Of course. Such knowledge was not particularly difficult to discover. I’m sure those in Rivendell knew at least a bit of it whilst you were there as well, and said nothing under the assumption that you’d never get here. As for myself, you were my prisoner. How was I to know your hobbit was an escape artist? If I had, I surely would’ve mentioned the creature, at least. That, however, does not tell me how you managed to fight a dragon and an ancient worm with only your small force, and not even all of it, since your wizard was busy with his own troubles before he came to me.” Thorin fingered the short sword he’d managed to get in Lake Town lightly, not precisely a threat but certainly warning Thranduil of the blade’s ready availability, as if the elf had any reason to be truly afraid with the entirety of his forces behind him, while we stood weak and weary and hurt in a crumbling kingdom.

                “Give over the Halfling and I might say. You’ve no business with him.” I might’ve gaped, a bit; it can only be expected in the face of pure dwarven stubbornness, really. How in the world any dwarf managed to go a week without being struck in frustration I would never know; if a hobbit ever acted as such in the Shire I expected they’d not get to go to parties or dance or feast for a month, much less be allowed to continue acting in such a manner. I bit back a chuckle; I really would miss these dwarves, when I left. I hardly knew how I’d be able to stand it, and quite honestly, I was beginning to think I simply… might not leave. Or at least I’d visit often.

                “I am not holding him hostage, only standing by him,” he said, squeezing my shoulder again, letting his thumb brush my neck, amusement glinting in his cool eyes. I sighed; of course, he was trying to annoy the Company, though why he thought that would be of any real bother to anyone I didn’t know. Very suddenly, however, Thranduil was shoved away and I was in different arms, wrapped tight within them.

                Despite what Mirkwood’s ruler had likely been hoping for, however, it was not Thorin who held me, but Smaug. I might’ve squeaked a bit; his hands were exceptionally warm and gentle around me, body firm behind mine. I settled my own hands on his forearms lightly, almost without thought, and he twisted me around and pressed a kiss to my lips. I certainly did squeak then, but the noise was quite overpowered by the shocked, enraged sounds the dwarves were making.

                “I am the reason, fool elf king; I am Smaug the Great and Terrible, guardian and slayer of the ancient Worm, claimer of Erebor, and this is my hobbit. Bilbo saw reason and convinced his dwarves to aid me, to free me to leave here when I am able.” Had I been in different company, that would’ve silenced everyone involved. As it stood, it only raised the clatter.  For myself, I was a bit… overwhelmed, to say the least. I’d known Smaug thought me… well, attractive, I suppose, for whatever reason, but that he… I flushed. I wasn’t unhappy about it, of course, not really; surprised, certainly, unsure of the reason for his attentions, wary of the consequences, but certainly not unhappy. After all, I’d quite enjoyed the conversations we’d shared, and the interest was nothing if not flattering. Besides, the mere thought of all the stories he could tell… I would in no way mind spending more time at his side. In any case, we’d most definitely have to discuss the whole ‘his hobbit’ business, when times were a bit less… turbulent.

                Varying shouts of, “ _your_ hobbit?” and “Bilbo is ours!” filled the air around us in about twelve different voices, Thorin only twitching in a rather unhealthy manner and Thranduil actually shocked enough to gape.

                “Oh dear,” I mumbled, and Smaug chuckled into my ear, breath hot enough to make me shiver.

                “Quite an understatement there, Bilbo.” So I’d noticed. I wondered if anyone knew that dragons could cause _this_ sort of trouble as well. If not, I’d found a new detail for my book, if nothing else. I almost wished at least one of the dwarves was aware enough of himself to hedge a bet or two on how long this particular outburst would last; I’d gotten in the habit of gambling with them over the course of the journey, and I’d grown rather skilled at it. Oh well; perhaps Smaug would be amenable.

                “Indeed. How long do you expect this will last?” I asked, and he raised coal black brows incredulously.

                “Couldn’t be longer than a minute or two, could it?” he asked, and I actually felt myself grin.

                “You’ve no idea, I’m afraid. I’m giving this one about a half hour.” Oh, if only Lobelia could see me now! Or even old Hamfast! He wasn’t precisely respectable himself, after all, but I’d imagine even his heart would stop at this! I laughed, deciding that I’d best take my pleasures where I was able with an army on the doorstep and still no reason for them to be here, or at least not one we’d been told. Perhaps, at least, Thranduil’s presence would settle them a bit faster. Not that I was holding my breath for that, really, but a hobbit can dream, can’t he? Especially when their record for settling down after getting into a fit like this was still a discomfortingly long ten minutes. It really is a shame how dwarves can grow on a hobbit, else I’d have beat them all senseless ages ago.  


	9. Chapter 9

                When silence finally fell, peace did not arise as it normally did; rather, I spent some time being used as a tug rope between a single dragon and thirteen dwarves, which still somehow managed to be an unfair competition in favor of the dragon, who was able to retain all but my left foot during most of the fiasco. I, proving that I have, in fact, learned to choose my battles, did not argue about it until they finally got tired enough, or reopened enough of their injuries, to put their battles aside for at least a little while. Then, of course, whilst they patched themselves up again, alternating between glaring at Smaug and glaring at Thranduil (who was still, somehow, shocked into silence), I managed to actually say my piece.

                I wriggled away from Smaug, who watched me curiously, and offered my own glare to him and to the dwarves. The company cowed immediately, having seen the look I was wearing often enough whenever they did something foolish to know very well what it meant. Smaug, who had not had such experience, only looked faintly amused, as if I were a little pup trying hard to growl and managing only squeaks. Thranduil looked near enough to heart failure that I almost thought to send for his guards before I said anything, but I suspected I wouldn’t get a silent opportunity for this again, so it was likely best to get on with it while I had the chance.

                “Most would not have to say this, you know, but I am _not_ some little child’s toy to be bickered over, most certainly not when the ones doing the bickering are a group of fully grown dwarves and an ancient dragon, of all things,” I began, thinking to get the obvious out of the way first, but apparently even that was worth a protestation.

                “But Bilbo, Smaug-,” Kili attempted, but I cut him off with a sharp look.

                “Kili, if the next words out of your mouth were going to be ‘started it,’ I will rescind every offer I ever made to make you a dinner like the one you had in my home when you all first barged into my life.” His mouth closed audibly, and he squirmed where he sat, his brother rolling his eyes and tweaking one of his braids. I couldn’t resist the faint twitch of my mouth at that sight, no matter how many times I reminded myself that I was meant to be _annoyed_ with them. “Now, as I was saying, I am not anybody’s hobbit but my own! I can very well choose who I want to spend time with without input, thank you kindly.” The dwarves pouted, and Smaug looked terribly proud of himself, sidling over to me with a frankly insufferable look on his face. I wondered if I ought to have Oin check on Thranduil; he was somehow managing to look even paler than before, and I was certain he hadn’t had that twitch an hour ago.

                “You see?” Smaug asked, arms draping over my shoulders, crossing over my chest and holding tightly. “My hobbit.” The dwarves continued pouting, saying not a word, though there were still hands obviously only barely resisting the tempting proximity of weapons. I sighed.

                “No, _not_ your hobbit. Did you not listen at all, Smaug? I was not speaking only to them.” He turned me around, tilting his head and looking very confused indeed.

                “But I like you,” he said, as if that explained everything. I nodded, very, very, exceptionally slowly, hoping to make myself as clear as possible seeing as how he was, somehow, thicker than the dwarves, which I’d never thought possible.

                “And I like you as well, Smaug; I would enjoy getting to know you better. That doesn’t mean that you’re my dragon, though,” I said, and he only looked at me as if I were a little thick myself.

                “Well, who in the world else’s am I, then, if not yours? I assure you that I have no others, and you gave no impression that you did.” Glancing over my shoulder, I found the dwarves looking very conspiratorial, which I knew meant that they would start another rebellion if I didn’t settle this soon.

                “You are your dragon and I am my hobbit; we are simply a dragon and a hobbit who happen to like each other.” He looked ready to protest again for a moment, but, after a few long seconds, he only shook his head.

                “You’re very strange, but I suppose that’s a large part of why I like you. Come, hobbit-who-is-his-own, I think we should leave the dwarves to settle their business with the elves.” That, at least, sounded reasonable; I’d gotten Thranduil inside peacefully, and I did at least trust the dwarves (Balin, mainly, and Ori) to keep it at least mostly civil from here. So, I nodded, preparing to wander off with him, but a chorus of refusal sounded behind me. Of course. I turned to face them, raising an eyebrow, but in this, they didn’t back down.

                “You are a member of our company, Master Baggins,” Balin said, eyes shining.

                “We need your help,” Ori added, all of the younger dwarves agreeing with him with a series of adamant nods.

                “Without you, we would not be here; we would be honored to have you stay until the end,” Thorin finished, and really, how could I refuse that? Smaug glared at them but didn’t speak, apparently at least conceding that they had something like a point even if he didn’t like it. I moved to stand among them and Smaug stayed at my back, a gargantuan shadow who towered over all in the room except Thranduil, with whom he probably stood nose to nose. Thorin cleared his throat.

                “Elf king,” he said, “I’m sure you’ve come here with your army for something. Why don’t you tell me what it is so that you can leave my city?” Thranduil shook his head bemusedly, glancing over at me again.

                “It is obvious that the hobbit rules Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield, you may as well let him do your negotiating as well.” Earlier in the journey, Thorin would’ve been offended by that; he would’ve glowered and growled and roared his anger to all who would listen, called me everything he could think of, but as it stood, his lips only curled into a faint smile.

                “Perhaps he does, Thranduil, but even so he would take no crown. Speak to me or do not speak; you are the one who has come here wanting.” Had Thranduil been anyone else, he might’ve frowned, or been angry, but instead he only nodded indifferently, and so Thorin led us to a larger room that still had an in-tact table and had us all settle around it. Honestly, from there I likely missed a rather large portion of the conversation; I was a bit in shock from the previous conversation, still.

                I heard something about stones made from starlight, and I watched a small party of dwarves leave and return with a pile of pretty white rocks, along with an intricate silver necklace that was, presumably, inlaid with the same stones. Thranduil slipped them into a pouch he wore at his side absently, and what he said next drew me fully from my shocked moving and into the present.

                “I am surprised that you have given me these, King Under the Mountain. I thought you’d surely have fallen under your treasure’s sway by now.” Thorin tightened his jaw, proud above all else, and shook his head.

                “I am not my grandfather, King Thranduil. In any case, I ask you take your army and return to your forest; I have given you what you claim belongs to your people, and you have nothing else to ask of me.”  I thought surely that would be the end of it all; we would be left alone in Erebor to begin rebuilding, and soon, Thorin would be able to send word to his people to return to their lost city. One day, I expect I will learn to stop expecting simple ends, especially when there is any possibility of Gandalf showing up, as he chose to do at that precise moment.

                “I would advise against that, Thorin; in fact, I would suggest you summon as many armies as you are able for the coming days. The orcs prepare for war.” I froze, I freely admit that; I think all but Smaug did as well, and even he turned up his nose a bit.

                “Gandalf,” Thranduil said, “Why should I believe that? Better yet, why risk my men for these dwarves?” The Wizard stretched his shadow, clouding the room in deeper, oppressive darkness. Smaug snorted quietly, leaning a little nearer to my, fingertips skating over my upper arm until I leaned against him lightly.

                “If the orcs take Erebor, the rest of Middle Earth will not be far behind; you know how strategic this place is, how good it would be to have an ally inside once more.” At that Smaug looked almost amused, grinning down at me with all his teeth.

                “It seems I prevented more than attack by worm, didn’t I? I must wonder why I am not thanked more often.” Gandalf didn’t even bother pretending surprise as it presence.

                “Smaug,” he said, nodding once, “Pleasant to see you’ve been made an ally.” The dragon shrugged.

                “I found a hobbit and I would prefer he not die. If you call that allegiance, then yes, I am your greatest ally now, and I will help you slay your orcs. Of course, I’d likely do that anyway; orc smells worse than dwarf, somehow. I expect it’s the only thing on Middle Earth that does.” Thranduil almost seemed to sigh.

                “You are right, Gandalf, that if orcs do come this place will fall without us. I do not fully believe that they _will_ come, of course, but my warriors and I will remain here for a time and fight if the need arises.” And that was that; Thranduil swept out, stiff-backed, and the dwarves released a collective sigh, worry mounting amongst us, along with some fear. So too am I sure that I wasn’t alone in wondering when our troubles would end. Finally, though, Thorin spoke, voice hard and certain, and I knew, somehow, that we would be alright.

                “I will send word to Dain and have him bring his soldiers. I expect the men will be willing enough to fight with the offer of more gold as well. Would you speak with them, Gandalf? More specifically, a man called Bard. Bring the start of what I swore to them when we sought their aid, and promise the rest when we’ve a better means of transporting it.” Gandalf actually smiled, wizened face amused and bright, and he bowed slightly, regally, like a noble instead of a Wizard.

                “Of course, King Oakenshield,” he said, and Thorin laughed.

                “Do not call me that, Gandalf. I am Thorin. To all of you, I am Thorin.” My blood ran warm, a smile curling my lips, until he thought to add a quick addendum. “Except to the dragon; you may still call me King.” And then I could only laugh, Gandalf and the dwarves and, eventually, even Smaug joining me in it.

                Their home had been won, I knew that; Erebor was reclaimed. Now… now all that was left to do was defend it. Gandalf left with a few bags of gold to bring word to Laketown, and for the rest of the day, we fortified the city, shoring up the gaping holes as best we could without tools or time, and when we finally stopped for the night to rest, I thought for certain that we would all sleep the sleep of the dead. Instead, though, just as I felt myself begin to doze to the sound of dwarven snores, Smaug dragged me up and away, into the treasury, me staring at him blankly the whole while until we reached the room and he showed me what I knew must be the Arkenstone.

                “I made you a promise that I would help you keep this from poisoning his heart, and I intend to keep it. For now, necessity has kept him from searching, and being away from this treasury keeps his mind clear, but once this war ends, he will seek this, and he will go mad. When you return to be, I will put it in a temporary place, deep in the mountain where none of you may yet reach, and for fear of his retaliation, I will not tell you where, exactly, it is. Later, when I’m able, I will take it somewhere very far away from here, and perhaps when it is there and he knows it lost, he may remain the dwarf you know and not a slave to his gems and coins.” Right then, I couldn’t resist pulling him down to my level and kissing him, throwing all the passion I could muster in so tired a state into it.

                He wrapped his arms around me tightly, returning my embrace and my kiss more sweetly than I ever would’ve imagined a dragon able, and when I pulled away for breath, he only nuzzled my neck, soft and warm. For one of the first times since I left Bag End and my Shire, I felt safe. No, I thought, I would not mind staying with this dragon for the rest of my life, if he’d have me. I wondered if I could convince the dwarves to let him stay. Better yet, I wondered if I could convince _him_ to stay. Or perhaps he and I could go elsewhere, and I could spend vacations here, perhaps the winter months. I smiled at the thought and felt myself assured yet again that, somehow, all would be well very soon, no matter the troubles we would face.       


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm expecting maybe one or two more chapters to this fic to finish out this story, and then probably a longer, single chapter explanation for what happens after with a higher rating. After that, I'm not entirely sure, but I've gotten a few requests from someone on fanfiction.net, so I'll probably end up giving one of them a try.

                I almost thought it was strange, how Smaug was able to act the next morning as though nothing at all had happened, his stare when he looked at the dwarves as blank and careless as ever. Then, of course, I remembered again what, precisely, he was; I was sure that he’d engaged in activities far more dangerous and surreptitious than this at some point in his long life.

                Still, I could never say I didn’t appreciate what he’d done, considering everything; this would… Thorin would be well enough to rule, at least, and that was what mattered more than anything. I nodded to myself, offering Smaug a smile as we worked, and his face lightened in response. The dwarves looked only faintly suspicious, but apparently far too busy to be able to actually ask me about anything, thankfully enough.

                My fingers ached with the work even still; the stones cut the tips of them and scraped my palms fiercely. I got more than one offer to let another dwarf take over my part, but I couldn’t stand the thought of feeling so useless again so late in the quest. We were at least able to finish by the end of the day, though, and when we settled by a small fire that night, I felt deep pride for what I’d done, though it was, admittedly, much less than what Smaug and the dwarves had managed.

                Apparently the dwarves shared in my pride, in any case, because they and I broke into a loud, happy song whose words I didn’t know the meaning of, but that I could sing well enough by memory. Smaug didn’t join in, obviously, but he seemed amused nonetheless, body warm where pressed beside mine. When the song settled, though, I felt a collection of heavy eyes on me, and, finally, Thorin spoke what everyone was apparently thinking.

                “Bilbo, I would ask that…,” he sighed, apparently unsure of how to continue, and that was enough to shock me into staring. Thorin was never unsure. “I know how fiercely you miss your Shire, and for that I do not blame you; if ever there was a home for a creature such as yourself, it is there, and I pray that you must never suffer losing it. Not holding that into consideration, however, I, and I imagine the rest of the company, would ask that you… stay here, for a time. At least until we’ve slain the orcs and restored Erebor to its former splendor. You are… one of my, our, finest friends. I would like you to see what it is that you have fought so hard for us to regain.” The words hit me like falling stone, and though I’d been considering staying, having the offer presented to me so… I hadn’t expected it, in any case. If anything, I’d almost thought they’d be half-eager to have me gone so they didn’t have to worry over me any longer.

                I suppose I sat too long in silence, mulling over what had been said, because Fili set to pouting and punched his uncle’s arm in what I’m sure he considered a familial manner, although my own arm ached just watching it.

                “Uncle, didn’t you say we shouldn’t be so _obvious_ about it? Now you’ve gone and made him uncomfortable,” he said, apparently trying to whisper and doing a very poor job of it. I fought to prevent smiling while Smaug rolled his eyes, snorting and sending twin streams of smoke into the air. Funny; that looked a lot strange when he was in the shape of a man. I found myself half-seeking a pipe that I knew wouldn’t be there, and he settled one hand over my thigh, squeezing softly and thoughtlessly. Uncle and nephew traded a few more over-obvious whispers, Thorin looking so shamed and scolded that I couldn’t help the faint thought that the real Thorin had been snatched and taken away to be replaced by this new, softer version of him. Eventually not even I could stand letting it go on, and so I spoke up.

                “I would be honored, Thorin, and I’m… I’m very grateful that you would offer me that. I think I should like to see the home you remember, and I would, of course, be glad to help you make this place into that memory as best I can.” Another moment of silence passed and I was, very suddenly, on my back, Fili and Kili having lunged forward and tackled me, the both of them grinning like loons while the older and the more respectable dwarves chuckled and smiled and nodded, Thorin’s shamed look wiped away like it had never been there to be replaced with pride.

                Smaug himself looked almost as surprised as I felt, I assume because his hand was very thoroughly pinned where it had been settled on my leg, held down by Fili’s weight, although I was sure the dragon could’ve pulled free if he really felt the need to. Honestly I thought he was handling it very well and being far more mature than I’d come to expect, at least until the two boys peppered playful kisses over my cheeks and my hair between their words of thanks, as if I’d given them the greatest gift they’d ever received and more. That, obviously, was worthy of the two of them being flicked off of me like bugs whilst my person was lifted easily and plopped onto his lap. The laughter and giggling quieted as the brothers alternated between staring incredulously at each other, me, and Smaug. I couldn’t see the dragon’s face, but I was almost sure he had that haughty look on his face again, brow raised and chin lifted.

                “Bilbo claims to be his own still, not mine, but I will not let two little pups snatch him away.” I wondered if Smaug would even feel it if I hit him, decided it didn’t matter if he did or didn’t, and then hit him on mere principle. I assumed he didn’t notice because I felt literally no reaction. “In any case, I will let him stay with you all, at least for a time. I will need a period to prepare my former mountain for him anyway; by now it is certainly barren, which I simply cannot allow. You all can at least be trusted to keep him from harm in that interval until I can fetch him.” The room filled with very pointed coughing, but no one seemed able to decide quite what the person who was coughing wanted them to say. Even I wasn’t entirely certain on how to respond to what Smaug had said, though eventually I decided on a heaving sigh.

                “You know, Smaug, you’ve a poor habit of deciding what will be done without asking others for input.” The dragon laughed, low and kind, hand stroking through my hair expertly, moving to my neck and massaging with clever fingers until I was all but putty in his hands and the dwarves were glaring very angrily indeed.

                “Ah, but why ask when I know you will agree?” I could think of many things to call him for that, but for whatever reason, I only managed a quiet hum and then a far more well-considered response.

                “I’d still appreciate the courtesy being offered when the next big decisions arrive.” He snorted.

                “Yes, yes, little dear.” More pointed coughing, and it was finally Fili who managed to speak.

                “Bilbo, are you _certain_ you’re alright with this?” he asked, and I smiled.

                “I’m glad for all of your concern, you know; I never thought I’d have such wonderful friends. But, yes, I am. I’m very… happy, actually, no matter the surprise in that. This is what I want,” I said, and after a few more moments of quiet, I received only nods of affirmation.

                “We’re with you to the end, Bilbo Baggins; at your service,” Thorin said, a faint smile curling his lips, and I realized suddenly that, though the others had said something similar upon being introduced to me, that was the first time Thorin had said it. I laughed to myself and nodded, but really there was nothing more to say and I think everyone knew it.

                We sang a few more songs together, that night, myself settled comfortably on Smaug’s lap where I hadn’t bothered to move and joy filled our hearts more than I’d ever imagined. I’d always thought, before, that home was a comfy hole in the ground with soft, broken in furniture and good food and a warm fire. Now, though… now I was beginning to expect that home had, for me, changed into something else, changed into wherever these people were. Faintly I still missed my things, in a way; there was a sentimentality to them that I couldn’t help but want back. I didn’t think I could have ever been fully happy among them and only them again, though; I’d had a taste of this sort of world-changing friendship, and I didn’t expect I could go on without it again. I tilted my head back and smiled up at Smaug, and he returned it. With that, I had no doubt that soon, this would all be over, and I didn’t expect I’d need reassurance of as much ever again.

* * *

 

                Perhaps a week passed in that way, with the exception of Gandalf’s return with a small army of men being led by Bard, until Thorin’s cousin Dain arrived with another army of dwarves. In the distance, we could see the signs of the orcs coming, their march fast and deadly, and though that worried me some, I couldn’t say I was truly afraid. We’d faced small armies of orcs with only we few; with armies at our backs, we would emerge victorious, of that I had no doubt.

                I watched my friends swarm through the mountain, the night Dain and his army arrived, all of them outfitting themselves in fine armor, and I stood away from the fray, knowing I’d be better served in another role rather than on the battlefield. I’d learned to fight a little over the course of the journey, yes, but in this… well, I’d be more a hindrance with the Company and Smaug all focusing on protecting me rather than really fighting. Besides, I knew much about medicine and it seemed we’d be short on healers, so I’d almost certainly be the most help in the small medical tent we had arranged right at the lip of Erebor’s entrance so the wounded could be taken from the battlefield whenever possible during and after the upcoming battle.

                As such, I wasn’t expecting it when Thorin found me, leading me to a quieter area with soft hands, and I was expecting it even less when he handed me a gleaming mail coat that looked as if it were made of mithril. I stared at it, and he smiled, chuckling softly.

                “It is for you, Bilbo; my forebears called it mithril. It will turn any blade from you no matter its sharpness. I know you have no plans to involve yourself in the battle, but should an orc try to involve you, I would feel far safer in the knowledge that you were protected in our absence if you would take this.” I’d heard of the value of mithril even in the Shire; there were many tales told of how wealthy a good mithril vein could make a dwarf. Now, I’d not know precisely _how_ valuable that coat was for many, many years, but I was under no illusions then that it was of no value.

                “Thorin, this is…,” I tried, but he only sighed, shaking his head.

                “I would not offer it if I didn’t want you to have it.” With that, I couldn’t really refuse without seeming rude, and so, I shrugged off my coat, slipping the mail over my head and marveling at the lightness of it. I grinned up at him, putting my coat back on over it and plucking at the thin rings softly.

                “I look absolutely ridiculous,” I said, and he bit back laughter.

                “Perhaps a bit, but at least after all this time you’ve finally agreed to put on a bit of armor,” he responded, clapping a hand on my shoulder as if I were a fellow soldier, and I would’ve said something else in response had I not felt a sudden set of eyes on us, had Smaug not swept up as suddenly as if he’d always been there. From experience, I thought he’d toss Thorin’s hand off of me and whisk me off somewhere, but I suppose I should never think I know a thing about the thoughts of dragons, because again he managed to surprise me.  

                At that moment, in a shadowy hallway deep within the mountain of Erebor, a dragon bowed to a dwarven king of his own will, simple and quick, but a bow nonetheless. And then, that very same dragon thanked the king, heartfelt and low, and when he left, didn’t even drag me with him. Thorin looked almost as bemused as me, until at last he seemed to come to some understanding I didn’t have, squeezed my shoulder one last time, wished me well, and went to supervise the choosing of armor and weapons once more.

                We waited by Erebor’s gates, none of us able to sleep, and waited for the inevitable call to battle. It came with dawn’s light, a loud elven horn that rang through the mountain so loudly that my ears throbbed. Dwarven war cries rang out the moment that the horn fell silent, and my dwarves charged forward and out, weapons raised and pride in every step they took.

                Smaug moved more slowly, body changing as he moved, becoming dragon once more, and I felt myself grin, sharp and wild and more dwarf than I ever would’ve admitted to before I stumbled into this adventure. The orcs had expected a nearly empty mountain inhabited only by a few weakened, injured, hungry dwarves, not a war, and certainly not my dragon who zipped into the air on recently healed wings, fire pluming from his mouth to smite them where they stood. The dwarves had told me before that they should never be underestimated; perhaps someone should’ve given the orcs the same lesson.  


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, just one more chapter for this one to wrap it all up, and then the little sequel (which, come to think of it, might not actually be written and posted immediately after this, though it will exist eventually), since I don't think it'll fit too well in the actual body of the story. Anyway, hope you all enjoy, and while I don't know exactly what will be posted the week after this is finished, it will certainly be a fic of some type.

                I had little time to marvel over the might of my friends as the battle began. Orcs appeared on the horizon, smoke rising behind them, the awful cried of their wargs filling the air. I ran from Erebor, towards the medical tent, as swiftly as I could manage, not entirely willing to be in the open when the orcs reached us. Our armies only watched, holding their ground, the elves’ bows ready to let arrows fly, the blades of men raised high in unsteady, unpracticed hands, the dwarves crouched in a protective formation behind their shields, blades jutting from the gaps. Smaug flew through the air in wide, lazy circles, his chest burning brightly with prepared flame, waiting for a large mass of the monstrous beasts to draw nearer so his fire could cause the greatest damage.

                I knew well enough that he’d be alright, of course; he was still a little hurt, if the way he seemed to be favoring his left wing was any indication, and he moved more deliberately to keep the wound in his side dealt to him by the worm covered and difficult to strike, but he knew how to keep himself alive if nothing else. The men watched him carefully, Gandalf’s reassurances only going so far, but they did, at least, let him alone. My breath came stopped as the orcs neared; I understood what was meant by the calm before a storm all at once.

                My dwarves moved slowly through all the armies, all of them so ready, so proud, that I had to smile. The elves that occupied the medical tent watched me with something like amusement, and I tried to flash them a grin to match the dwarves, stubborn and brave. Given the circumstances, I think I did quite well, and as if my smile were a harbinger of doom, that was the very moment when the first wave of orcs reached us. War cries filled the air; arrows twanged from their bows, fleshy thumps abounding as they met their marks as wargs impaled themselves on dwarven blades, as the clumsy swords of men cut through their thick hide. It almost felt too quiet, too simple, much though it pains a hobbit such as myself to say something like that.

                Smaug cut silently through the air, away from our armies, and dived sharply down, flames pouring as hot as any forge from his throat. The orcs he’d chosen had no chance; I never imagined such a thought would make me grin, but that moment, it did.

                I almost thought, for a short moment, that it would all be over before it began, but the orcs kept coming. Our people began falling as more and more orcs poured forth, their army seemingly never ending whilst ours was painfully finite. The pale orc never showed itself. Men and elves and dwarves began spilling into our tent, and not even Smaug’s great plumes of fire could stem the flow of orcs very much. We began losing ground; worms, much smaller than the one we’d already faced, burst from the ground, and though they were held off easily enough, it only opened the way for the orcs to harshen their attack. Bats I’d only read about, bats bred for war, appeared seemingly out of nowhere to further harass our armies.

                Thorin and I very likely noticed how they were signaling for new waves at the same time; his eyes were fixed on the same distant contraption as mine. Without thinking (curse the dwarf I’d found in me; it had obviously amplified the Took in me), I fled the tent, no matter the elves that tried to stop me. I slipped my ring on when I entered the fray of the battle, moving close behind Thorin, his nephews, and Dwalin towards the signaling machine.

                I don’t really know what I thought I could do, how I could help those fine warriors, but for whatever reason, I didn’t want them out of my sight. I clambered up the low mountain after them, matched their hand holds, and didn’t show myself until we reached the top, not far from our goal so I couldn’t be sent away. I half thought the shock would kill all of them where they stood, when I let them see me.

                “Bilbo,” Thorin hissed, “Bilbo, why did you follow us? Go back to the medical tent.” I shook my head, lips twitching, and he growled, jerking his head towards the bottom of the mountain. I shook mine again, and Fili and Kili bit back laughter. Thorin could only sigh, shaking his head and setting off, and I followed. They had at least learned that the stubbornness of hobbits could easily match the stubbornness of dwarves.

                We held our breath, myself even keeping Sting out and ready for a battle I knew I was ill-prepared for. Perhaps I should’ve known it was a trap. Perhaps I had, and that’s why I followed.

* * *

 

                Azog was there, waiting for us with two more gargantuan orcs who I expected led their own segments of the orc army as well. The signaling device was beside them, ready to be used to call the next orc wave down upon our armies. My stomach clenched; the orc showed us its sharp, yellowed teeth, and before we could even blink, he had Fili’s neck clenched in his massive fist, brandishing the false metal arm as a weapon to keep us away, keep us from helping him. Kili screamed in his brother’s place, such pain in his voice like I’d never heard.

                “Your sister sons first, Oakenshield. Then your brothers in arms. You armies. Your _kingdom_ , your _gold_. All of them first, before you. You will watch them suffer and bleed until you beg me for the same release.” His voice was so low that I almost couldn’t understand what he said. Fear painted Thorin’s face in such a thick layer that I barely recognized him. Fili kicked fitfully, at least getting some air but I knew that the moment Azog wished that to change, it would. Dwalin desperately held Kili back. I didn’t think that Thorin could speak, much less move.

                All that as good as made my decision for me. I hadn’t done all I had to watch these dwarves die right in front of me. I charged, Sting held out, my eyes closed, knowing that I would die and willing to if only so I could distract him long enough for Fili to get free, for the dwarves to have a fair chance. I felt the deadly pointed blade of Azog’s arm against my chest, right over my heart. Strangely, though, I felt no pain, and I knew I wasn’t bleeding. The mithril; I remembered it suddenly, and laughed.

                Sting had managed to dig into the flesh just above one of his hips, not deadly but certainly painful, going by his shriek as he dropped Fili harshly onto the ground. I don’t know how long I stood there, locked in front of Azog, before the dwarves broke from their shock and charged, weapons high. Azog jerked, but I only barely managed to keep my hold on Sting as Thorin fell on him with his own sword.

                Dwalin, Fili, and Kili charged the other two orcs, keeping them away from Thorin, Azog, and I, moving with expert ease against them. I laughed again, breathless and afraid and shaking, and still I fought to keep my hold. Eventually, though, Azog forced himself hard in one direction, tearing myself and Sting free as if pain were nothing.

                I hit the ground hard. Thorin looked as if he were going to come to me, but I shook my head desperately, scrambling to my feet a little shakily and charging for the signal. One of the nameless orcs tried to stop me, of course, but Dwalin’s ax served as an adept preventative measure as I struck the thing with Sting again and again until it splintered and fell. My chest ached, probably bruised, and my arms felt heavy. One of the orcs, the one Dwalin had gotten, suffered a kick to the back from Kili that sent him sailing off the mountain. The other, I knew, would stand no chance when the three of them fell on him together, so I chose instead to run back to Thorin, hoping only that I could continue being a help rather than a hindrance.

                The fight raged like none I’d ever seen, the two of them testing one another, giving tiny lunges and making tiny wounds that meant nothing to either of them. I held back, watching them move, waiting for a moment to help and finding none. They snarled at each other, years of rage having built in the both of them without a moment’s rest. I’d never seen enemies like them.

                It seemed they fought for hours and I saw no opening; they were moving slowly from me as well, towards ice, as if neither of them noticed, and I followed. Still I couldn’t imagine leaving Thorin alone with the orc, letting him fight alone. He’d done that for long enough. I wished he could think a bit more even still; the ice felt thin even under my weight, so I couldn’t imagine it holding out for long against the weight of an orc and a dwarf.

                The ice did allow me to find my opening, however; Thorin stumbled and Azog fell on him like a swarm, taking advantage of the weakness. Un-hobbity though it is, that allowed me to take advantage of his exposed back. I buried Sting into him, hard and deep as I could manage, and he yelled loudly enough I imagined I could feel the mountain tremble.  I watched the end of Thorin’s blade appear beside mine, watched his bloody face split into a grin beside mine.

                We didn’t notice the ice cracking beneath us, not until it shattered and the three of us, Azog now still and serving only as deadweight, fell into the bitterly frozen water. I dropped Sting immediately; I’d grown to care for the little sword, yes, but not at the cost of mine and Thorin’s life and I’d never been a particularly strong swimmer anyway. Few hobbits were; we weren’t creatures of water.

                I gagged and choked and only barely managed to close my hand around Thorin’s arm, kick Azog’s body out of the way. He’d released his own blade as well, at least, but his furs were thick and heavy with water. Apparently he wasn’t a very skilled swimmer either. We both kicked and struggled, trying desperately to reach the surface, but I could already see black spots dancing in my eyes. I thought that we would die there, truly, until I felt a familiar claw curl around us and fish us out.

                Smaug. Smaug must have seen us fighting, must have flown over to help and found us drowning. I coughed up mouthful after mouthful of water into the snow, feeling sick with it, and saw Thorin beside me doing the same. I shivered pathetically; the dragon looked really very annoyed indeed. In the distance, I saw the elf who had told me his story originally, and beside him an elf girl who Kili looked at with starry eyes. The eagles flew overhead; I felt like weeping.

                “I leave you in a medical tent and find you nearly a mile away, drowning with a dwarf atop an entirely different mountain than the one you’ve been questing for. Is there something you feel you must tell me, Bilbo?” I let out a noise halfway between a laugh and another choke and pressed close to him, grateful for his warmth, his fire. I drew Thorin closer as well, knowing he couldn’t be much warmer than I, though he and Smaug looked faintly disgusted by the prospect.

                “It’s over?” I asked, and the dragon snorted.

                “I suppose. Rather anticlimactic really, don’t you think? I’d been hoping for a bit more excitement than that, honestly, but then I suppose they were only orcs.” Had he been in his man shape, he would’ve shrugged, I know it. I laughed around my chattering teeth.

                “I had quite enough excitement, I think.” Another snort, his wing draping over me gently and drawing me nearer.

                “I’d expect so, dear hobbit. Tell me, why, precisely, _did_ you come up here? I did tell you that I would just as soon as not see you dead, correct?” I tried a smile, pressing my cheek against his scales and sighing at the heat.

                “You did, but I could not just sit there and let them have all the adventure, could I? Besides, I have not come so far to see them die.” Thorin’s frozen, shaky hand squeezed my shoulder and I don’t think he’d ever looked at me with such warmth before. Smaug rolled his eyes and probably would have flicked him away had he not known that Thorin likely would’ve frozen to death if he sat anywhere else.

                “Quite lucky I’m fond of you, Bilbo Baggins,” he said, and I grinned.

                “And I of you, Smaug the great and terrible.”

                “I really must have a chat with whoever decided to dub me such.”

                “Oh? How silly of me; I’d thought that ‘the great and terrible’ was your surname.” I smiled with my teasing, and with his laughter came a puff of warm air I relished in as I cuddled more comfortably under his wing, so close I barely even noticed the snow underneath me any longer.

                “I say again that you’re lucky I’m fond of you. Come; the others of your rag tag band would likely enjoy knowing that you and their king are well. I will fly you and the rest down to them.” It was not the ending I’d expected, nor even the one I’d dared hope for. Even still, I was not the sort of hobbit to complain when things worked themselves out, when a happy ending gift wrapped itself for me and those I loved. So, I simply laughed again, nodded, and let him place me and Thorin and Dwalin and Fili and Kili and the two elves (Legolas, Thranduil’s son, and Tauriel, I later learned) upon his back. Flying, though cold at the time, felt like magic.   


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the last chapter! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Anyhow, I guess the identity of next week's new fic will simply have to remain a mystery to all of us until it appears here, but I do at least promise that it will exist, whatever it is!

                That night, we celebrated. It felt a little strange to do so, of course, given all the dead, all the suffering, but still I felt joy. All of my friends were well, having suffered only minor wounds that were easily treated, and Erebor was theirs again. It was over. I thought that over and over again, scarcely able to believe it myself; it was over. It was all over. I laughed to myself, very quiet and careful, as if too much noise, too much happiness, would shatter the illusion.

                Smaug, back in the shape of a man, a few bandages wrapped tight around the few injuries he’d sustained and the few others he’d reopened, had me settled in his lap, hands clasped warmly over my stomach, head tilted back against the wall behind him while my own was settled against his chest. My dwarves had taken a while to stop staring at that, but now it was as though this was how it always was. I felt more at home than I had in a very, very long time.

                We all spent the night huddled near each other; I don’t think I was the only one afraid that the other shoe would drop and we’d realize the happy ending we’d found couldn’t be. Smaug’s hand was a comforting weight over me until morning, at which point, after a quick breakfast (and I would be so very glad when we got to replenish our food stores; I was so terribly tired of cram) he left with a squadron of my dwarves led by Thorin, and about half of Dain’s, to go deeper into the mountain and start planning repairs.

                I stayed back with the promise that I would be allowed in the next group, though I wasn’t particularly happy about it, and conversed mostly with Fili, who’d been forced to remain in his brother’s place because he’d been injured far more severely. I didn’t expect he’d be able to take the makeshift sling and brace off of his arm for a couple of weeks at least, actually; his arm had been at an awful angle when Smaug brought us back to Erebor, broken, he said, when he was parrying an orc’s heavy blows.

                “I expect this place will be splendid, when the repairs are completed,” I said, and he smiled, fond and oddly like his uncle.

                “I do as well, Master Boggins. It’s a shame I’ll be able to help so little, though; Kili will hold it over my head for _decades._ ” I snorted; a rather un-hobbity noise, I know, but it seemed suited to the situation, and the dwarves did it often enough.

                “Oh, come now-,” I began, ready to tease, when a small cluster of Dain’s dwarves came to us and settled, apparently wishing to erase the stark dividing line that had, without my notice, appeared between the Company and the new dwarves. I gave them the best smile I could manage, and they seemed a bit flustered. Fili glowered and that he was Thorin’s nephew had never been clearer to me; no one who didn’t share Thorin’s blood could glower quite that much like Thorin. I bit my lip to hide the laughter.

                “Hello. Master Baggins, is it? We’d heard that… that King Oakenshield’s company contained a hobbit, but we didn’t quite believe it. It’s nice to meet you,” one of the new dwarves said, voice quieter than I was expecting, almost nervous. Looking at his face, his beard was thin and short; were I to guess, I’d have placed him at about Ori’s age. I supposed, at least, that it was nice to know that young dwarves were just as unsure of themselves as young hobbits. I chuckled, holding out a hand for him to shake, and he did so hesitantly. The others, about the same age as he, looked on with something like awe. Fili glowered harder and settled his undamaged arm over my shoulder.

                “You as well, and don’t worry so much; I can assure you that I never expected I’d end up here either!” I said it laughingly, and, however hesitantly, they joined in. I tried to draw them into conversation, but Fili remained stubbornly silent and only glared harshly until at last they, in something like terror, fled. I heaved a sigh. “Fili, that was very rude. They did help us get your mountain back.” He shrugged, grinning again as if he’d never stopped.

                “And so they get to stay in it, not harass our hobbit. I assure you that you’ll get plenty of harassing from the nobles eager to get in good with you shortly; I figured I could spare you from it a little while longer.” I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms and very probably pouting at him.

                “I don’t expect I’ll be getting that much attention, Fili. Besides, what’s the trouble with me making new friends? They seem sweet enough.” He looked at me as though he thought I were being very silly indeed (and I almost thought to be offended, after all the idiotic things he’d done and said with his brother over the course of this journey) then shook his head.

                “Bilbo, you’ve kept this quest from failing many times over; they know that, and the nobles that come here will definitely figure it out quickly. Uncle respects you and values your opinion just as much as he does anyone else, and he’s set to become king as soon as we can manage an official coronation. Kili and I adore you, and we’re the heirs to that throne. You’ve got a dragon wrapped around your little finger, perfectly willing to do whatever you ask. It’s going to be pretty obvious that getting you to like them will get them favoritism.” Oh, dear. I was honestly a bit disturbed at how much sense that made. I’d had to deal with similar before, though; owning Bag End and having no heirs of my own was enough to assure that. Still, I far from _enjoyed_ having such attention foisted upon me. Fili laughed at whatever he saw on my face, then. “Have I ruined your dreams of a peaceful life here, Bilbo?”

                “Perhaps a bit, but I suppose I can forgive you, if only for your honesty. It has been some time since I’ve had to deal with such things, I’ll admit, but I _have_ dealt with it before. Besides, I expect with you all growling about it, I’ll scarce have to worry over anything at all!” Fili chuckled, nodding faintly, and from there conversation drifted to lighter things again, the rest of the company not exploring with Thorin joining in with familiar ease.

                Whenever a tiny cluster of Dain’s dwarves managed to pluck up the courage to come over and attempt conversation (usually with me, and oh, but I would have to kill Fili for making me notice) they fell silent and set to glaring. Eventually, every last one of Dain’s dwarves was as far from us as they could manage to get, generally not even daring to sneak a glance at me for fear of reprisal by way of harsh stares. I sighed to myself, half-amused and half-annoyed, honestly glad when Thorin and the rest returned, as if I thought that they, Smaug especially, would make it any better.

                I suppose I at least didn’t expect them, Smaug especially, to look quite so pleased at the state of things when they got back. I certainly didn’t expect Smaug to offer Fili a grateful nod as he plopped behind me and settled me into his lap again.

                “You have my thanks, dwarf prince.” Fili inclined his head as if he understood and I wanted to give the both of them a good whack across the head. I wondered what I could have possibly done to be cursed with such beings for companions, then chuckled faintly to myself. The same thing I’d done to be blessed with them, I supposed. I tilted my head up and pressed a sweet kiss he seemed to appreciate greatly to his lips.

* * *

 

                Time passed that way for a week, or a little more, until Smaug was completely healed and the mountain well on its way to repair. We’d already managed to clear away a good portion of rubble, actually, and we’d found a couple of rooms suitable for sleeping, along with the kitchens, for which I would be forever joyous as it meant an end to cram.

                I’d settled into a routine when Smaug told me that he was leaving, and with those words, he shattered it thoughtlessly. I hadn’t expected… well, I certainly hadn’t expected he would want to _stay_ , I supposed. He raised an eyebrow at whatever expression I was making, then gave the most long-suffering sigh I’d ever heard.

                “Have you forgotten already, silly hobbit? I plan to go prepare my own mountain for you, and when that is done, I will return here to take you there. I simply think it safer for you here with your dwarves than alone in your Shire. Besides, I’ve a certain bit of trash to dispose of, if you’ll recall, and again I’d prefer you not be with me when I do so.” The Arkenstone, yes; it was easy to forget it in all the commotion. Thorin hadn’t even mentioned it, after all, and I prayed it would remain so. I wondered if it was because he’d been pointedly kept from the treasury since the mountain was reclaimed, or if it was because Smaug had hidden the stone so deep within the mountain that he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t be corrupted by it, or if he just wasn’t predisposed to the sickness of his forefathers. Whatever the reason, it was a happy thought, and I knew as much.

                I threw my arms around Smaug suddenly, even he seeming a little surprised by it, but he certainly wasn’t complaining; his arms were gentle and kind and warm around me. Home; the thought hit me again, very suddenly, and I smiled.

                “I’ll miss you,” I said, and he stiffened, then relaxed, tilting my chin up and drawing me into a deep kiss with ease. I sighed against his lips, and the both of us were smiling when he let me go.

                “And I you, Bilbo. I will return as soon as possible.” I nodded, reached out and squeezed his hand once, then stepped away.

                “Be well, my dragon.” His eyes went wide, and I relished in being able to shock him. Understanding for what he’d meant when he called me his before had hit me suddenly, not very long before; this had seemed a good moment to reveal my knowledge, to show him that I understood and accepted and agreed. He laughed, shaking his head, and bent down to peck my lips one last time.

                “Full of surprises, my hobbit,” he said, “I will return.” And then, with barely a breath spared to change into his dragon shape, he was gone.

* * *

 

                He was gone for almost three months, and in that time, the dwarves and I nearly managed to complete the rebuilding, though there was still much to be done to return Erebor entirely to her former glory. Dwarves from all over, the families of my dwarves, had long since begun returning to the mountain; I still laughed at the very… memorable moment in which I’d met Thorin’s sister Dis and she’d nearly choked me to death in her eagerness to thank me, after which she scolded her sons and her brother for nearly an hour for running off on the quest to begin with. It took much longer before she was actually willing to thank them, to congratulate them and express her pride, and I realized with wild amusement that Thorin’s stubbornness was, shockingly enough, nothing compared to hers.

                No matter how accepted and how happy I was during those three months, I wasn’t entirely complete. I did miss Smaug terribly; I kept looking around, expecting to feel him behind me, to see him flicking away the dwarves he felt got too close to me, but nothing of the sort ever happened because he was off gallivanting to some mysterious mountain he called his own. I kept myself busy, however, focused on Erebor and the dwarves, and by doing that, I at least managed to stay sane.  

                When he did return, it was with no fanfare; he was unhurt, and we’d known he was coming for at least a half hour before he arrived because the guards had seen him in the sky. I still felt as if a massive weight was lifted off of me the moment he stepped in, dragon form shed at the door, and I was able to throw my arms around him again. I took consolation in the fact that he was just as happy to see me, and in the fact that even the dwarves looked amused by our reunion.

                Even still, when Thorin suddenly came over and clapped a hand on Smaug’s shoulder, expression dark and serious, I couldn’t help but be a little worried. The two were far from friendly, after all, and I’d never ask it to be otherwise. Smaug didn’t look particularly worried, though, not that that really meant anything beyond the fact that he knew he could beat Thorin in a fight if he had to do so.

                “Look after him,” the dwarf king said at last, before he wrapped me in a hug of his own, reminiscent of the moment on the Carrock when he apologized. My eyes welled; the rest of my dwarves piled into the hug, and I felt the faintest traces of dampness on my neck from one or the other of them. Smaug watched all of that with more patience than I thought possible, I assume because he knew I would soon be leaving with him.

                “Don’t forget to visit,” Kili said.

                “We’ll want you to see this place when it’s done,” his brother continued, at which point all the other dwarves made certain to tell me what they wanted me to come back for, that they’d miss me, that they wished me well. I swallowed stiffly, blinking back more tears and grinning like a fool. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to imagine a better group of friends, a better family, than them.

                The time quickly came for me to leave with Smaug, however; I packed my little rucksack with the few things I owned and collected the small trunk of treasure Thorin had insisted upon, and left with Smaug at my side. When we stepped outside and he transformed to dragon again, allowing me on his back, I didn’t question where we were going, knowing only that, wherever it was, it would be home. That, after all this time and after all I’d done, my ability to be so certain of that only made me smile.


End file.
